


Fox...High

by Phase7



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst and Humor, Domestic Fluff, Everybody Else (Metal Gear), Jupiter Family, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), gray fox is spelled grey fox because british spell-check, more ships to sail soon, oh boy i can't wait to reveal the villain y'all will be so salty you'll transform into the aral sea
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-10-09 13:24:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10413150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phase7/pseuds/Phase7
Summary: "It took a few keystrokes and a youtube click for Otacon to hack that assignment.  His face went through stages: disinterest, confusion at the editing and Disney Channel level font choice, mounting dread, and then heartbreak."Raiden's son John discovers that a hit teen-spy TV show has deeper implications for his entire extended jupiter-family when he's kidnapped to join the clone shenanigans at FOX...HIGH.  Warning for some post MGR domestic fluff.





	1. wherein raiden runs a pro-anime household

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [#MGSHSAU](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9665894) by [aireyv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireyv/pseuds/aireyv). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fully intend to finish all of the personnel illustrations; the first 8 are here. I will probably note in a later chapter when all are complete, and then remove this note.

John Emmerich felt, in his heart of hearts, that he would always be an entirely ordinary boy, beginning with his name. He wasn't headed off to an Ivy League university for his smarts. He couldn't dream of a sports scholarship since he wasn't too good at any of them. His friend Ronnie was the Team Valor leader of the local gym, but he couldn't manage to train anything to match her; he was pretty good at shiny hunting though. He finally had his driver's license but didn't have a car. When it came to love, John and Olivia had dated for five months, and he'd felt her boob, but she broke it off because he would "smell like a Thai restaurant." Honestly, he didn't think that was worth breaking up over, and he'd cried in private because he loved Olivia, but when he saw her holding hands with Duwayne at school he actually felt better. At least she'd broken it off instead of cheating. Ronnie said he didn't smell. John was glad to at least have friends at his boring, boring school. He felt like just another kid in Denver.

Every afternoon, John Emmerich came home to a two story plus basement section of brick row-houses. Ronnie lived three doors up, Olivia two blocks over, and Duwayne eight doors down next to the Korean market. John had started to dread walking by Duwayne's house when fetching shrimp paste, lemongrass, and raw kampot pepper. The front door was always unlocked, despite having a big strip of security sensors bolted on the inside. The house always smelled like dinner, with soup or noodles simmering before the wok flared to life and the fierce sound of fizzling battled with the clack of steel cooking sticks. In the basement, when they were home, John's dad and papa would be fighting, sending clashes of swordplay and close quarters combat up through the cushioned walls. Right on schedule, they'd shower off at 4:40, then be upstairs for dinner and a hug at 5:00. This was normal, routine, and comforting.

This was the ordinary life that served to cover up John's entirely extraordinary family. Gay dads weren't extraordinary at all, since Linda and Trinh both had gay moms, but gay dads who were also retired cyborg super soldiers running a prosthetics clinic were not normal. Retired cyborg super soldiers who refused to teach John how to fight despite going on occasional missions to combat a global war conspiracy were both weird and annoying to a teenage boy's sense of coolness. When they came home missing limbs and chunks of circuitry or flesh, though, John understood why they didn't want him to fight.

Earlier in his childhood, John's dads went on missions more often. Because of that, he remembered his mama trying to regain custody a few times. Mama Rose didn't visit him at all in between court cases where she visited all the time. Back when she was the one with custody, John got used to being raised by a new nanny every eight months or so between moves. He'd travelled a lot around the world, and never felt like he fit in. His nannies were nice to him, but they got tired following the schedule Rose made: classes, language tutoring, trombone practice, bed by 9:00. Mama Rose said over and over that they were paid to take care of him, and only she really loved him. But when she was home, she was with other people, and he had to be quiet. When she took him out, he had to behave while she held him and showed him to others. John got the feeling that no one actually loved him, even his dad who was always at war.

Four months after John's ninth birthday, a seven foot tall cyborg with a blindfold on broke into a supposedly hidden home in New Zealand, knocked out a nanny, and took John to the airport. John ate three whole caramel chocolate bars in the car because mama Rose never let him have any. The cyborg said they were going to meet up with John's father, Raiden. John believed his kidnapper because he knew Raiden dad was a cyborg as well, and his dad had left him a signed note with a gift wrapped Transformers Optimus VS Megatron double set. When they got to the airport, mama Rose was arguing with Raiden, and a muscly guy with a metal arm, and security. Displaying unexpected stealth, the seven foot cyborg suggested that he and John should go get ice cream at the airport's Ben&Jerry's, then the two of them snuck off. John ate so much he got sick, and threw up in the bathroom sink. The cyborg cleaned his face and hair, then led him by the hand back to where mama Rose and Raiden were arguing much less loudly. That's when John had figured out through logic that someone who bumped his head on ceilings shouldn't be able to hold a kid's hand at waist height, so looked up to see the cyborg's forearm completely detached from the rest of the body. John found he was actually fine with this, and didn't let go of the hand all through the long ride back to the United States. John had met his Âu. Nanny: the Final Destination.

Every night in Denver, John Emmerich sat down for dinner with Dad, Papa, Âu, sometimes a brain in a can in a Mistral body, and always his little sister Vanna. Vanna, or Giovanna Rodrigues, had come into the family with papa Samuel Rodrigues from Brazil. Johnn and Vanna didn't look related at all, since she had her father's dark skin and endless black curls, and he looked like a beige paint swatch. John cared about her as his real sister all the same because she was so small, she loved to read the hand me down books he gave her and then talk about them, and she was a good sport at losing games. She wasn't a very good sport at eating vegetables she didn't like, which had Âu constantly coaxing her or holding plates of what she actually wanted to eat out of human reach until she capitulated on the small bowl of greens. Everyone agreed she was getting a bit old for all this, but with all the finicky eaters in the family, it hardly stood out.

John's dad Raiden didn't eat much actual food. John's papa Sam ate quite a bit. While Sam inhaled everything put in front of him to fuel ripped pecs, Raiden drank actual glowing blue fuel alongside a glass of milky white synth-blood. John's Âu, who Raiden called Monsoon, Sam called _Pentelho_ , and social services called Phirun, usually drank a smoothie while plugged into the wall socket. John didn't like eggplant, avocado, or grapes, and he wasn't too keen on PB&J sandwiches either.

"My friends and I have been watching a really cool new show after school," John said at dinner.

"Uh huh," Raiden said, ready to pay attention to what his son had to say. Sam slurped noodles, cucumber, and spiced egg into his mouth. Monsoon was holding a bowl of coconut rice above the ceiling fan while Vanna begrudgingly finished her cucumber.

"It's about a group of super spies named after animals, but they're only in highschool," John continued. "They go on real missions to stop drug cartels and stuff."

"Probably not real," Sam said before grabbing some lime-cooked beef off of the central platter. Some sauce splattered onto his cheek and black stubbly chin before he wiped it away with a thick dark thumb.

"Then who took out the Rosso family in Sicily? According to the news, it's an unknown expeditionary force. But it's these guys! I saw it last season! And this season's going to be even better because they're going to fight real _terrorists_. It's a _reality_ show, Papa!"

"A reality show about highschool super spies?" Raiden chuckled and scratched at his silver-blonde hair with metal hands. "John, that's got to be fake. But I'm sure they have really good tech advisors."

"What about you, dad? You fought when you were in highschool, right?"

Darkness sliced at Raiden's ice blue eyes and shook his hands to the bone before he calmed himself. "I was a child soldier. I was forced to do horrible things, and it wasn't fun. You know this."

"I mean Foxhound, dad." John felt ready to roll his eyes. It was obvious, to him at least, that he wasn't talking about Liberia. He knew better than to romanticise that. But the time in an elite American unit? The time Raiden had first met Solid Snake? That had to be cooler, even if Uncle Hal didn't like talking about it.

"[hoc ca:n nih mɔɔk aoj kʰɲom]!*" Vanna pushed her empty bowl away then reached for the arm parts magnetised to the ceiling.  
*Gimme that bowl!

"English or português at the table, Vanna," Sam prompted.

"I don't speak portu—" Vanna started.

"And whose fault is that?" Sam cut in, staring daggers at Monsoon.

Monsoon's hand with the sweet coconut rice quickly descended to the table. Vanna dug in while Monsoon leant over his half drunk glass of nüt mylk blood with an "innocent" smile.

"[ɲam].* So, John, tell us more about this cool show you like," Monsoon said.  
*EAT.

"Okay, I was asking about Foxhound because it's really weird," John began again.

"Yeah, elite military groups tend not to be normal," Raiden scoffed.

John sighed audibly. "No, I mean the show is really good but some parts of it are weird. Like the title, it's Fox...High. That's Fox Dot Dot Dot High. There's always a big pause."

"Yeah, sounds like TV," said Raiden who lived on import DVDs.

"And the main characters are named after Sunny's chickens!"

"What." Finally, Raiden's attention got grabbed right out of his pit of cynicism.

"Yeah, Solid Snake, Liquid Snake, and the best one obviously, Venom Snake. Okay, not Solidus like the chicken, but still: weird coïncidence, right?"

"Solid Snake and Liquid Snake. The highschoolers."

"I told you, they're named after animals. Like Sniper Wolf and Vampire Bat." John was ready to name more characters, but Raiden's far off stare stole the words from his mouth.

After an uncomfortable pause that had red flickering at his frightened eyes, Raiden spoke: "We need to call Otacon."

##

"Fox... High?" Hal "Otacon" Emmerich repeated the show's name with an honest pause of confusion. His glasses drifted down his long-lined face before a swift finger flick sent them expertly back up his hawkish nose. Despite the last name, Otacon and John were not actually related. Raiden had gone through too many fake last names and fake families in his life. When he found a real family in Hal, Sunny, and Dave, people who actually cared about him and would beg him not to fight, he finally took the last name that fit. He figured Dave, the real Solid Snake, would have gotten a smile out of it if he were still alive.

"Yeah," Raiden confirmed Otacon's mounting suspicions, "Little John got me to watch an episode. It gets worse. Just google the opening and _look_."

It took a few keystrokes and a youtube click for Otacon to hack that assignment. Raiden waited and watched Otacon's face over the video call while he watched the short clip. Their faces had gone through similar stages: disinterest, confusion at the editing and Disney Channel level font choice, mounting dread, and then heartbreak. The heartbreak hit Otacon much harder than Raiden, digging into his crow's feet that had formed when he and Snake laughed together. His thoughts were filled with only: why is this happening? Accustomed to replaying anime OPs, Otacon's youtube script was turned on to repeat automatically, so the Fox...High opening started all over again. The flashes of smiling faces paused unfortunately on "Solid Snake" by the time Otacon slammed the space bar down.

"Well, there's..." Otacon took a deep breath, trying to not look hurt on the video call. "A good explanation for this. Shadow Moses got out onto Wikileaks, the tanker too, a whole bunch of leaks after the Patriots. The only surprising part is how they got actors who look so much like, well, everyone. But that's Hollywood I guess."

"You mean people know?" Raiden's voice grew raspy with suspicion.

"I checked the leaks after they came out. They have pictures from file, basic rundown sheets on the personnel, and the basics of what happened, but nothing like conversations or anything we'd remember. In fact, if I were to make a show about it, it'd probably turn out like this. But with maybe better editing." Otacon closed the youtube tab.

"So you think this is just regular entertainment? Kids are going to grow up thinking that being a super-soldier is cool, that Revolver Ocelot's a cute boy, that Fatman's just a jokester named _Bomber Armadillo_."

"At least I didn't see a Raiden character in the opening," Otacon sighed.

"Yeah. There isn't one. I guess that's good. And most of the episode I saw focused on relationship drama anyway. But then they had the final confrontation with the Rosso family. I told John, I know they didn't do that because I got the call for it. I turned it down, so the joint MI6-OVRA force took care of it. But there were names and details I recognised that never got out to the news."

"Maybe they have more than Wikileaks to work from. There could be a government mole, or maybe a legit military connection. Like how the US Army will lend out tanks and personnel to Hollywood in exchange for a positive portrayal in films. If this show is portraying the military in a positive light, I can see a few leaks getting out to the writing staff. It's like that old Chinese saying, you scratch my cat, I'll scratch yours."

Raiden knew better than to bring up that that was not how any saying went out loud. He'd just file it away to embarrass Otacon next time they met up with Mei Ling.

Noticing the dark look on Raiden's face just then, Otacon took the wrong inference and tried harder to look compassionate. "I'm sure no one's honestly trying to push for child soldiers on television, Raiden. This is probably just today's Totally Spies or Kim Possible, just fake reality TV flavoured. If it'll make you feel better, I'll look into it."

"I think that'd actually make me feel better, thanks," Raiden admitted.

"If I get a name, don't rush over to beat them up in person."

"I won't." Raiden scrunched his eyes at the joke. He and Otacon stared at one another. "So have you heard from Sunny?"

Otacon looked to the side for a second. "I'd love to know where she is, but she went off the grid on purpose. I'm still trying to track her, because that's the point of the exercise, but I think her systems are far ahead of me again. The mobile onion network test ends this week. She'll be back. Maybe she'll bring you a souvenir."

"Hah." Raiden barked out a laugh. Blade Wolf's head rose slightly into frame within Otacon's video feed, but settled back down. Just Raiden making stupid noises as usual. "I mean, not that I'd turn it down."

"Of course. See you, Raiden."

"See you, Otacon." A smile crept up on Raiden's face before he ended the call.

Personnel: Grey Fox  
Spy Power: Ninja Combat  
Lucky Object: Garnet Mask

Appearing first with the cyclopean mask of the cyber ninja, Grey Fox soon reached up to remove it. He was a handsome boy, at least seventeen, with ash-blonde hair brought forward in a hairspray mane that peaked over his nose. He sat down on a chair in a nondescript room that looked like a prison cell: the interrogation room with its interview chair. His boat collared cashmere sweater, maroon tank-top, black jeans with chains, and pierced ears were definitively fashionable.

"The most important part to being a super-spy is commitment," Grey Fox said with conviction. "You have a duty to your country and your team, whether a mission goes well or not. Get in, get out, serve with honour. Boss' rules."

Personnel: Solid Snake  
Spy Power: Silent Infiltration  
Lucky Object: Cardboard Box  
"I think the most important part to being a super spy is..." Solid looked right at the camera, then away. He scratched at the lime green bandanna holding his brown bangs back, then at the stubble he'd been begging his body to grow for years now. His fingers tapped on the reinforced knees of his infiltration camouflage suit. "Actually it's teamwork. I've got a whole team backing me up whenever I go in. That sounds stupid, but it's true."

Personnel: Liquid Snake  
Spy Power: L e  a  
"My spy power is that anything he can do I can do better!" Liquid's blonde mug cut onto the screen before words could scroll letter by letter into the lower righthand corner. The camera zoomed out quick. Liquid sat on the interview chair with pale arms and legs crossed in the rectangular frame formed by leather pants, black trenchcoat, and fingerless gloves.

"No you can't," said Solid's voice from the left speaker. Liquid turned to look at the left, and the camera followed where Solid was standing in the corner holding a soda can that had its label blurred.

"Yes I can," Liquid insisted.

"No you caaaaan't!"/"Yes I caaaaaan!" The two finally broke out into the predictable melody, then laughed. Liquid rose from his chair, fist-bumped Solid, and ended with fly-away jazz hands.

"Yeah, it's teamwork," Liquid said to the camera, before reaching for the soda can.

Personnel: Venom Snake  
Spy Power: Survival Infiltration  
Lucky Object: Moth

John Snake's beard gave the impression that he was no longer a teen, just as intended. His dark slacks and salmon button-up shirt looked like they'd never been ironed, but his leather boots were properly tied and carefully shined. His mouth moved to chew gum before he spoke.

"Sometimes a mission doesn't go as planned. The important thing is to lie low and stay alive before and after you catch your objective."

A quick cut.

"My superpower? I'll eat anything I guess."

Personnel: Revolver Ocelot  
Spy Power: Perfect Memory  
Lucky Object: Revolver

"He'll eat _anything._ And I _love_ it."

Ocelot looked directly into the camera and beyond with a saucy stare, arching his brushed brows. His red scarf reflected a false blush on his high cheeks and slightly exposed clavicle. His red gloves perched on his crossed knees, the long fingers stretching like a cat before piano practice. The cameraman laughed.

Ocelot laughed too. "What? We're on cable!" Ocelot pointed to the camera with two fingers, his face now looking at someone off to the cameraman's right. "They know it!"

A quick cut. Ocelot looked at the ceiling, affecting a pout.

"The most important part to being a super-spy is to Keep Them Guessing." His eyes returned to the camera. "Says a guy who does actual spying."

Personnel: Sniper Wolf  
Spy Power: Two-Mile Sleep Darts  
Lucky Object: Plush Wolf "Lep Lep"*  
*Paw Paw

" _Bismillah_ , Ocelot is so passive-aggressive." Wolf was less than impressed, even though she continued smiling while she shook her head and tried to cover her face with her hands. The folds of her brocade hijab shimmered in different colours under the interrogation lights.

A quick cut. Wolf had composed herself, looking cheekily at the camera while she sat turned to the side.

"My spy secret? Just one shot and it's bed-time for bad-guys." Her fingers in an L, Wolf mimed shooting at the camera along with a silent "pew". "I'm sleeping beauty."

Cut to Wolf's impeccably made bed, where Lep Lep sat stop her pillow. The quick shot rotated and faded to monochrome over a soft Inception note.

Personnel: Decoy Octopus  
Spy Power: Impersonation  
Lucky Object: Comb

Someone looking and sounding exactly like Sniper Wolf sat on the interrogation chair wearing a simple black suit and tie.

"My spy secret is to not be seen. Blend in to any environment and you can get what you need." Octopus dropped Wolf's voice, a chocolate rain timbre emerging. "Out of life, really."

Personnel: Vulcan Raven  
Spy Power: Can Drive a Tank  
Lucky Object: That Tank

Lacking any tattoos but still covering head and arms with a hoodie, Raven lounged around the interrogation chair in hopes that his thick legs wouldn't break it.

"They keep me around because I can drive a tank and knock out supersoldiers. I am not a spy." There was a pause. "I can speak Tlingit if that helps? Ugh. [tʰʌ́ itʰínʌχ χʌt jʌtʰi]...*"  
*I need sleep...

Personnel: Psychic Mantis  
Spy Power: ESP + Telekinesis  
Lucky Object: Gas Mask

"I can read minds and I think that makes me a valuable member of this spy team," Mantis mumbled through two air filters as his bent forearms trembled inside his overlong sleeves. Sunset-red hair spilling out the sides of his gas mask, his bony form seemed engulfed and overpowered by the interrogation chair. "Thank you."

Personnel: Fortune Dolphin  
Spy Power: Can't Be Hit  
Lucky Object: Unneeded

"Not getting hit by bullets isn't a real skill," Fortune said, "but keeping alert when they're flying at you and focusing on pulling fire from the insertion site is. Combat should be the last resort of a spy mission, but when it's needed, I'll be here for you."

Fortune's beautiful brown hands came into frame, holding aviator glasses. They went right on her face, shining gold to match her manicured nails. Her lips smiled. Her black dress flecked with gold which she wore over work-out shorts looked dazzling. She felt really cool at that moment. All the prep was worth it.

Personnel: Bomber Armadillo  
Spy Power: Universal Defuser  
Lucky Object: Curly Straw

Almost a hundred pounds lighter than his counterpart on file, and almost unrecognisable with a full head of curly brown hair, the team bomber sipped a fruit smoothie while doing his best to lean back on the metal chair. His chubby face smiled out at his audience, absolutely _ready_.

"Look, I'm here to defuse any situation, and I don't just mean bombs. Sure, that's my specialty, but I'm especial-ty good at dancing too. Watch out for _these_ body rolls." He lifted a big leg to show off roller skates. "Hwatchaaa."

Personnel: Vampire Bat  
Spy Power: Actual Vampire  
Lucky Object: Grave Dirt

"I'm an actual vampire," teenage Vamp said with total conviction.

The screen cut to black.

Music blared when the technicolour camouflage-print background soared over the screen, stripes of pink and blue and teal dancing behind the giant black words, "Coming Soon." Inset over the shifting background, seemingly top secret files flew open across desks and landed next to coffee mugs. The faces taped to the corners were unmistakably those of Raiden and Olga Gurlukovich. Various tech specs popped up such as "expert swordsman," "2008," "next-level hacker," "Big Shell," "unstoppable ninja," and "aerospace genius." A voice unmistakable to fans of Fox...High began speaking: The Boss. Then she was on screen, sandy hair tamed by her bandanna, features friendly but disciplined, uniform bleached tan by endless workouts, blue eyes ever wary.

"Cell Squad," The Boss addressed the teenage Dead Cell members who stood at attention before her, "we're finally going to complete your roster. We have two new members coming from our sister site, and they've been training even longer than you. I'm sure you've heard of them: Jack Rabbit and Hacker Sunbear." Raiden and Olga's faces flashed on screen while The Boss paused. "Remember the basics of Super Spy Protocol:  
Duty First.  
Think Fast.  
Team Forever."

At 2:00 AM EST, while Otacon was trying to hack into its private users section, the official website auto-updated to publish the teaser trailer for the upcoming season of Fox...High.


	2. wherein monsoon is apparently raising a card sharp

"You can only watch the last season for free online, but you can watch them _all_ using my FHO login pass," John Emmerich explained, typing into the laptop over his father's shoulder. Raiden felt the machine warming up his metal thighs through his dress slacks. Their blonde hair reflected in bobbing light blotches over the dark background of Fox...High's video archive page. Raiden held back his usual frowns. He'd asked for this. "Season one is just the older snakes, but then season two is when Fortune and the others join in, during the attack on Grand Mesa where it turns out that the CIA was working with General Goldo of the PMC Vici—"

"John, put the sparkle string around the ceiling fan," Monsoon's voice ordered from the vicinity of the kitchen. One of his hands dumped a coil of silver bunny-shaped tinsel onto John's head. "This birthday party was your idea."

"But Âu, Dad wants to know about Fox... High! We're bonding," John insisted and certainly did not whine.

From within his polynesian-backed rattan chair and hand-woven pillows, Jetstream Sam snickered. Raiden shot A Look over his shoulder. Sam pretended he was reacting to his book, blinking innocently from behind reading glasses. He looked entirely too domestic wearing an upscale track suit in the warm orange glow of a library at sunset. The old wood shelves shared space between books, games, and anime figurines, all lit from above by yellowish fairy lights. The printer in the corner blinked in standby underneath a pile of John's homework. Raiden wondered for the millionth time if this was what a home looked like.

"It's as if rice fries itself around this house," Monsoon groused. "Laundry: magically folds itself into drawers. Beds revert to a pre-slept state. What a wonderful, mysterious world you live in, John."

"Dad, is he secretly upset about something?" John lowered his voice, worried that the house's slave machine was actually complaining, and certain that it was a kick-the-dog moment spurred by some greater offence. John was the one who thought that holding a birthday party for the brain in a can would be a great idea to pull last minute. Despite being achingly close to adulthood, John had yet to realise that fun actually required a lot of work.

"Go decorate. The show will still be here tonight." Raiden patted John's shoulder and shot him an understanding smile. The boy did have to learn to pull a little bit of weight around the house. Even if to keep him coddled like a baby was eternally tempting. Was it so wrong that he wanted John to have the wonderfully uneventful and long childhood that he had been denied?

"Watch it, Dad, watch it without me. Everyone's really cool." John navigated to the first episode and double clicked. He left to decorate for the party, passing through the bead curtain between living room and the hall to the dining room and kitchen. The wooden beads clacked after him loudly.

There went Raiden's normal kid. Episode 1 of 112 began playing. Raiden sighed, running a hand down his silicone face. He wished someone would have warned him that being a normal kid apparently came with obsessing over TV shows and weird internet trends.

"There are a hundred episodes," Raiden groaned at the pastel-camouflage themed opening.

"He's really got you in a tight spot now, _bonito_ ," Sam said. Within a moment, his lips pecked at the top of Raiden's head. The hulk could be quick and silent when he wanted to be. Raiden had long ago stopped being surprised or complaining about it.

"This is just Sword Art Online 2.0, right?"

"You're the one who wants to watch just in case it reveals your secrets. I was going to let him tell us the plot while pretending to pay attention."

"Wow, father of the year. Do you do that to Vanna with Pretty Cure Rainbow Dance?"

"No no," Sam said alongside a patronising pat to Raiden's cheek, "that has a wiki."

The bead curtain crackled like river rapids.

"Anyone planning to eat birthday cake had better set the table," Monsoon said directly into Sam's ear. Sam raised his eyebrows and drew out his lips like an unapologetic criminal caught red handed. Before he could accept responsibility for the chore, John rushed in with folded up streamers.

"I'll get it," John said eagerly. "Papa can put the bunting out front. You're taller." John handed the streamers to Sam to prove his point. He looked down at his father and the laptop. "And you're watching." Content that his plans to inform his father about what Kids These Days liked, John rushed off past the beads to set the table.

"So, Jack..." Monsoon fished for more help.

"we're bonding," Raiden announced, suddenly finding the first episode of Fox...High to be extremely interesting. The front door chimed faintly.

"Mei Ling's here!!" John yelled. Soon his footsteps were banging over the hardwood floor to get to the door. High pitched greetings ensued, and someone yelled "Otacon!" Picturing all cooking still left to be done, Monsoon gave up and hurled his parts back to the kitchen.

##

"Happy birthday to you."

Clap, clap. The spice cake was topped in strawberries and raspberries, but only one candle. No one quite knew how old the birthday girl was and asking brought up uncomfortable unethical questions.

_As a child, there was starvation and people hitting her. She often screamed no, but no one ever stopped. She was alone on the street. One last blow to the head made everything go black._

"Happy birthday to you."

Clap, clap. Everyone had brought a present, and based on the package shapes only one cheapskate had brought an arm, which was the Socks for Christmas of cyborgs. If there was one thing that a brain installed in the backup Mistral body was lacking, it was definitely never arms.

_She floated through unending yellow cities where pain was still horribly real and the only order was to cut. Grey enemies ran at her one after another, and they ceased to be human. Cut or be hurt. The floating words and diagrams taught her English, weapon maintenance, and human agony._

"Happy birthday, Mercedes."

Clap, clap. The room was dark apart from the candle, but even that tiny light was enough to cast an orange glow on smiling faces wearing their best.

_One day the yellow city began to teach her how to cut to heal. Screaming monsters no longer threatened her. Scalpels, thread, clamps, and suction replaced guns and knives. The words written across the silent halls showed her inside humans and the machines to keep them alive. Grey patients lay on white tables, one after another._

"Happy birthday to you."

Clap, clap. Dr. Mercedes Garcia, leading surgeon at Philanthropy Prosthetics, took a deep breath in. She held it inside the loculated rubber bag of her lungs. Then she carefully let it out until the candle flame turned to smoke. The lights rose up, twinkling fairy lights followed by two lamps. Everyone clapped again.

_Suddenly she was in a strange new body. She was very tall. She had breasts and wide hips. The world was grey and cold and small, just a room made of cinder blocks and metal shelves that smelled sour like alcohol. People were rushing down the hall loudly, black bodies passing indistinctly by the heavy metal door's one eyeslot window. They shouted to intercept the intruder on level 36, then 37._

_Mercedes looked up from her hands. There was a grey table in the middle of the room, and a dying brown body was bleeding red onto its ripped white clothes. Immediately an artificial heart was shoved into her face. A man in a red helmet with duct tape around his neck and blood bags hanging off his arms told her to perform a transplant. She took the heart, felt her tools unfold from her hands, and ran on autopilot. That was the day Mercedes had become a doctor. She'd honestly winged it ever since._

"Did you make a secret wish?" Vanna Rodrigues asked. Her tiny body was ready to vibrate out of its party dress, and her curls bounced underneath the paper crown that matched everyone else in the brownstone's living room.

"I did," Mercedes confirmed in Mistral's voice, now laid over by a sweet tempered Mexican accent.

"Then we can have cake?"

"Vanna, it's Mercedes' birthday party," Raiden chastised.

"It's fine; I want cake too!" Mercedes smiled and waved her hand over her mouth. "Just a tiny piece."

"You can have a big piece if you want to get more of the taste," Monsoon offered while measuring for the first slice. "I don't mind cleaning out your tank."

"No, tiny. It lasts longer if I don't chew." Mercedes drew an imaginary line over the cake where there was no strawberry.

"Tienshing Labs has been working on bioreactors for spirolina and sawgrass conversion," Otacon said excitedly. "I really think you should join the Maverick brains in the first trials."

"I want to but: work," Mercedes deferred while picking at the frosting of her tiny sliver of cake. At the platter, Vanna drew a generous slice for herself, and recieved half of it.

"Right. Sorry. It just seems unfair."

"I can't offer that risk to my patients, if the energy conversion isn't good enough to power my body through surgery. And what if I smell like tofu?"

"Then not only would you be the world's best prosthetic surgery cyborg," Otacon said affably, "but you'd smell delicious too."

"Oh, Otacon!" Mei Ling nudged the scientist's foot with her smiling daisy socks.

"I really think you should take a break, though," Raiden said to Mercedes after accepting his cake. "You've been at the clinic eight years. Don't you deserve a vacation?"

"Hasn't it been longer than eight years?" John asked. "You did surgery when you were with Âu working for the bad guys, right?" By the silence that followed, John realised he'd have done better to insert his foot directly into his mouth. "Sorry."

"My row in the brain cube was only undergoing the VR surgical training," Mercedes said with a well trained detachment. "So I've only done real surgery after they put me in a body. It's as long as I've known you." She put a happy lilt into her voice to calm John's nerves.

"Do you want my strawberry?" Mei Ling offered.

"Oh, thank you!" Mercedes happily put out her plate next to Mei Ling's. The fruit transfer seemed to calm the room. There was no use being angry at John for bringing up the past when he honestly didn't know what he was talking about. That was the entire point of giving him the semblance of a normal family.

"What have you been watching recently? Any anime?" Otacon asked.

"I finished Escaflowne last month, good recommendation," Mercedes said, "but I've mostly been watching John's favourite show with him after work."

"Fox...High! Fox...High!" John cheered.

Mei Ling just bout lost it, choking on the forkful of icing she'd just eaten. Sam rushed to slap at her back, but she pushed him off. "No, no, I'm fine," she insisted while licking her lips.

"Are you all right?" Raiden asked.

"Fox...High? You watch it?" Mei Ling asked.

"It's the most popular show at school and I'm not not popular," John said.

"It's just funny because I'm one of the writers," Mei Ling said.

"WHAT." Raiden did his best tiny bellow, entire body audibly locking into battle readiness.

"You never told me that," Otacon said almost as if hurt.

"I'm a contributing writer only." Mei Ling tried to downplay her role even if she was obviously excited and ready to share as much as she could. "It's not that serious. Most of the content is actor-generated, anyway. They asked some people who were named in the Wikileaks to be anonymous contributors."

Raiden looked about ready to die or kill, eyes wide. "You're writing a show about _Snake_ as a _child soldier_."

"They're super spies, not child soldiers. And actually, they're actors," Mei Ling lightly chastised. "It's all filmed on a ranch in Wyoming, plus a jungle set in Florida. I visited with Captain VanBuren and Colonel Campbell once after season two."

"Oh of course he'd be involved," Otacon groaned.

"The point of the show isn't to advocate for child soldiers. We're just telling James Bond stories where the good guys learn about teamwork while fighting modern-style enemies. PMCs and warlords are the bad guys. If you want to be mad at media, try the paramilitary video games that are sponsored by real gun companies."

"You mean Colla-Doody," John mocked.

"Which we tried real hard to keep out of this house," Raiden said.

"How does writing for the show work, then?" Mercedes asked. "It must be exciting to be a real Hollywood Writer. Maybe you'll get to write a film, or a Netflix miniseries."

"I don't think so," Mei Ling sighed. "What happens is we send the producers script treatments, just outlines for missions. They ask us to base plotlines on real missions. We have to get into detail about the real military encounters, so the stunt people can work on those scenes. The fun writing is for the 'heart bucket' where we submit possible developments in the bigger relationships, and extracurricular activities like the lizards turning up all over in season three."

"Oh I remember that," John broke in. "Dad, they had iguanas invading the mess hall and everyone had to chase them down! It was really funny, using the secret spy gear to track down all the iguanas, even the ones that got into Liquid's bedroom and pooped on his clothes!"

"Yes, dangerous child soldiers, hunting down iguanas," Sam teased Raiden, punching him right in the backstory. He shot a smile straight at Raiden who glared back.

"They didn't hurt them! They caught them safely and fultoned them to a wildlife rescue place," John explained.

"Fultoned," Raiden repeated.

"Nothing cuter than a floating iguana, Dad."

"Anyway, we have two new characters coming on next season," Mei ling said. She received rapt attention. "I submitted a treatment based on Zanzibar Land, so they'll probably introduce them during that mission, maybe duri—"

"Zanzibar Land? Mei Ling, are you serious?" Otacon asked, upset.

"I know Snake was involved. I'm not trying to disrespect his memory. I'm trying to let the world know about Metal Gear the only way I can. We all fought against nuclear proliferation and the Patriots together. We can't let that fight die now."

"I guess it's, um, it fits right, in a sad way? There'll always be a snake fighting a metal gear."

"At least people love the snakes on TV," Raiden said softly. "They're fighting wars that aren't complicated. No one's going to call this Solid Snake a terrorist. Maybe it's better to just be a story."

Otacon searched for words but couldn't find them. He was just sad. Solid Snake hadn't been a story. He'd been a real man, Dave to Otacon's Hal. They'd been a real pair, fighting for peace together, even when Otacon felt like his heart would break if Snake went into battle again. Otacon selfishly wanted the entire world to remember that Dave was real, and right, and a good person. But maybe the entire world really was better off if the last vestiges of Big Boss became childish stories. The Patriots couldn't hurt real children if they moved from conspiracy to fairy tale. But. But Dave was real.

##

John walked over to his bed in plaid pyjamas, the taste of mint toothpaste still in his mouth. Vanna and her stuffed tiger ran past in the hallway, followed by Raiden. She had eaten two pieces of cake. John climbed into his own bed and pushed off his lamp.

"Vanna, get to bed," Raiden implored.

"kʰla kʰɲom mɨn cɑŋ deik*," Vanna said, changing direction quickly to run past where she came and not get caught.  
*My tiger doesn't wanna sleep.

"Vanna, _get to bed_ ," Sam ordered from the stairwell. In a second, he sprang and had her caged against his chest, headed off to her room.

"No," Vanna tried protesting, but Sam shushed her.

"Let our guests sleep. You were a good girl at the party, so be a..."

John expected the day to end like this. Vanna was getting kind of bratty, and he didn't really like how she got all that attention for acting out. It made him frown. He'd had fun at the party anyway. Tried his best.

The bed dipped and creaked to John's right, nearer the door. He looked to the side: there was Monsoon's wide hip, and the big fat thighs dangling off the bed. And up above, his Âu's softly smiling face. And then the smooth metal hand petting at his hair.

"You were very stalwart today," Monsoon said.

"Was I?" John asked.

"Yes, you behaved during the party."

"Not like Vanna?"

Monsoon chuffed like a pleased tiger. John took that as a sign of victory. The head pat stopped.

"Âu... I... really haven't messed up in life, have I?" John held onto the tops of his sheets, sinking down.

"Why ask me that? Viewed from a traditional moralistic perspective, I've messed up more than anyone in this house. Do you want my opinion as a connoisseur of the art?"

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought up Fox...High. It makes Dad uncomfortable. Because of the past."

"Wind blows. Petals fall. Tomorrow becomes yesterday. It stays there, and rots." Monsoon paused, waiting for confirmation. John stewed in his upset. Monsoon's fingers faltered where they hovered over the boy's head. "So, a new tomorrow is all anyone has." John stayed quiet. Monsoon's left hand retreated, and folded its fingers against the right. He looked directly down at John and laid out his voice plainly instead of looking all philosophical at the Protomen poster on the far wall as he had done previously. "He'll get over it."

"Okay," John finally said. His fingers fidgeted at the edge of his comforter. "There's just things I want to talk with him about, but he gets, you know..."

"Moody. Curmudgeonly. Capriciously sour. But he still loves you. You're the continuation of his genes."

"But not his memes. He doesn't know any of my memes. I want to know his memes—"

"Trust me, you don't."

"That's what he says whenever he shuts me out! There's things I need to tell him before it's too late and... never mind." John rolled over until only his back and hunched shoulders faced Monsoon. The covers pulled tight into sharp ridges and valleys between his smoothly sloping bodyline and the furrows under Monsoon's thighs. "Good night, Âu."

"Is it that you're gay?" Unsettled but not surprised that John had learned well his father's tactic of shutting things out, Monsoon fished for the most likely explanation for the upset.

"I'm not gay!" The pillow muffled John's yell.

"We'd all still love you if you were gay."

"I'm not gay."

Monsoon was pressing X to doubt but decided to pursue a strategy of acceptance instead of confrontation as he continued. "Or bisexual— asexual— a _girl_?"

"It's not _any_ of that. I want to join the navy."

"The navy."

"I can swim," John said as if it were a defence of his decision before his self doubt ate into his voice like acid. "But I'm weak. And I want to be strong and cool, like Sunny and Mei Ling and Meryl. But I'm not smart enough to be a programmer. I want to be a pilot, on a gigantic aircraft carrier. I want to go anywhere but Denver."

"You certainly are seventeen." Monsoon fought the urge to shake his head but lost the battle against his own smile. John turned back over under the covers loudly so he could meet Monsoon's deprecation with a fierce face.

"When I'm eighteen, I get to make the decision for myself."

"Jack won't like it." Finally, the urge to bend his head won over Monsoon. The truth of those words and the honest bitterness of his body brought out John's fears.

"You have to promise not to tell Dad."

"John, I live to keep Jack in a state of psychological turmoil."

"Please, Âu, don't tell him. I'm not even sure if I really want to join the navy, I just..."

Monsoon sighed as long and hard as he could manage with his neck slice's reduced lung capacity. The rushing sound from his nose broke John's panic. The cyborg crossed his arms behind that long neck and leant back into the padded green fabric at the very corner of John's headboard. His thighs crossed, relieving the tension on the dinosaur patterned comforter.

"We should go to Phnom Penh," Monsoon said.

"Phnom Penh." It was John's turn to not believe what he was hearing.

"There are many things to experience in Cambodia: the wats, the beaches, the palace, elephants, dance, the lumber yard where I met my wife, pepper farms, all those stones the kings left behind, tarantulas on a stick. Really good food."

"You just said tarantulas on a stick."

"Phnom Penh: you can't get any farther from Denver."

"I guess not."

"I've been away for over ten years..." Monsoon sighed again, then looked to the ceiling as if he could see though it and straight across the hollow Earth to his hometown. "Wonder if I've become a meme."

"Âu, you're definitely a meme," John said with certainty. Assured that the Earth is solid and convex, Monsoon slid off the edge of John's bed piece by piece until he knelt at the bedside, looking up over the arms now crossed in front of his face over a stegosaurus.

"Give it some serious thought, John. I won't tell your father what you're planning."

"Yeah, I'll, I'll think about it, about everything. Thanks. Thank you."

"I'm still waking you up for school." Monsoon lay his hand on John's head, then straightened up the covers. His nose touched the boy's cheek for a chaste fatherly kiss. "cou dɑmnaər deɛk lʊək coh, caw*."  
*go ahead and sleep, kid

"Kay." John mumbled as the door to his room closed softly. Beyond his dark room, X was still being pressed.

##

It was 4:30 again. Friday. John was walking back from school with leaves pooling at his feet. Another week was over, and he didn't feel any older, just more tired. He had a report to finish about A Separate Peace, and he was this close to locking himself in his room and writing about how it was obviously a piece of gay fanfiction about something but that would require effort to look into what fandoms were around way back then. And he didn't want to think about a sex scene starring Gene and Phineas, the Amazing Punchable Duo. He'd read way better gay fanfiction than this darn book. Crunching leaves brought his mind out of literature class. He still had half a mile to go to get home.

Vanna had already run forward past John, singing along to an oldies tape that was only cool because she'd found it and the player herself. An eight year old's rendition of Sheena's Easton's "9 to 5" faded into the distance as Vanna hopped off to the Southwest: away from home, but towards the bar that pretty much everyone knew was a gambling parlour. She thought it was just where she could practice Khmer with someone other than family while learning how to deal cards. The bartender texted whenever she came to her "job" and Monsoon picked her up at 7:00. She'd found the place by following him one previous "Âu's Alone Night." No one had been happy about it. And yet every friday she returned because it made her feel very adult.

Perhaps the leaves crunched so much because his backpack was so heavy, John thought. He had to be carrying 200 pounds of horrible expensive textbooks, even when lesson plans all went to his tablet. Late stage capitalism. Need a communist revolution. Fully automated luxury space communism. Communist alien robots. Megaman 12 coming out soon. Stardroid Terra was male in the original game but the redesign from Inticreates definitely had boobs and hips and was hot. Crushing on her so hard. Too afraid to read the manga and get everything spoiled. Fanart of Stardroid Terra without her armour. Art skills lacking. Imagination not lacking. Plan: run up stairs and say a shower is needed because of getting caught in sprinklers. If her scleras are black does that mean her nipples are black...

Buildings passed by as John walked home on the same well tread route. Everything moved slowly except his vividly jumbling thoughts. He was glad no one could read them. Cloudy windowpanes and sidewalk cracks passed by. Hologram ads sprang and faded. His shoe was starting to get a hole in the heel. An arm came from his left hand side and pulled him into a car.

The abduction happened so fast and soundlessly that no one noticed.


	3. wherein sunny is not sexualised, thank goodness

When John awoke, the back of his mouth tasted weird and he couldn't see past a thick blindfold.  His hands were cuffed.  He was strapped down in the backseat of a car : he could tell because he could kick a partition in front of him.  He yelled, but nothing happened.  Advanced kicking did nothing to help.

With determination, John calmed a bit.  He rubbed the side of his head against the headrest until it pushed his blindfold up.  The windows had fabric bolted over them.  There was a view hole in the car's partition, but it had a metal plate slid in front of it from the other side.  John squirmed in his seat until he stretched the seatbelt enough to turn around in it.  Then the hands cuffed behind his back could undo the buckle.  After thinking more, he leant forward in his seat and pressed his nose to the metal covered partition.  It clicked in the way that things do when they can move.  Pressing his nose harder and at an angle, he slid the metal cover to the side just a crack.

The car in front was sort of small, and the wide-shouldered driver wore a simple black jean jacket.  The cord from headphones came over the driver's right arm and down to an iPod.  John nosed the metal plate over more until the tip of his nose fit through.  With a centimetre to see through, he could make out the road ahead.  Grass sprawled over uneven ground, grey and unwelcoming.

Sparsely placed bumps in the road jostled John away from his tiny worldview, but he returned to it even after the pothole that crashed his head into the left side window frame.  The sky only grew darker under the threat of rain.  Cows continued standing in place while the car sped by.  Asphalt gave over to gravel after a turn.  The road wasn't marked.  Cows stopped appearing.  Nothing but grass and fleeting birds.  Finally buildings came into view.  A compound grew as mushrooms on the horizon.

Scant Security prowled the walls : one guard at the gate, and sitting in the gatehouse at that.  The car rolled into the compound on top of crunching gravel and grass.  The compound itself was an almost natural structure, fashioned by batting down mine overburden with lime to make a little slice of Tatooine in Wyoming.  Large piles of the leftover rock remained scattered around or piled up as the compound wall, already reclaimed by grass to masquerade as hills.  As the car pulled up to the largest of the long domes, John realised the compound was built on top of an old, old open top mine.  He wondered if there were still toxic lakes around, or if the mine was so old that every heavy metal and sulphuric stream had long ago washed downstream for future generations to worry about.  In any case, he had the sinking suspicion that this compound sat on land that had been forgotten on purpose.

When the car stopped, Jack tensed.  He pried his eyes from the slot he'd pried open in the car's divider.  He slid close to the driver's side door in the back, and prepared to run.  The door opened.  John screamed, as loud and as high as he could.  He kicked the door out and into the driver's stomach.  He launched out of the car and began running.  Several paces into his escape, with the driver right on his heels, he tripped.  He landed face-first in Wyoming's crablike clumps of whithering autumn grass.  His heart pounded so hard, he felt like he was already dying ahead of schedule.  He could burst a vessel before the man behind him finished his job.  He could explode in red on the grey earth before the clicking of the gun behind his head evolved into a pulled trigger.

Red splattered onto the grass in a halo for the shadow of John's head.  His back felt warm in an instant.  The driver fell to his right.  John stared at the blood formed omega on the ground, then pushed himself back up to his feet.  He began running again.  His hands were still chained behind his back, and the corpse of the driver surely had the key, but he didn't want to die.  He didn't want to be next.  He wanted to go home and see his dads again.  He felt his nose start to run, precursor to crying.

Someone was chasing John.  He tried to run harder, but his pursuer was in much better shape.  A hand closed over John's mouth, but he screamed anyway, then bit.  The hand did not move.  Looking down for a second, John noticed the hand was dark and ungloved.  It tasted salty and bitter.

"We're the good guys.  We intercepted a transmission about your abduction," A low voice said as the hand loosened.

"I don't want to die," John breathed.

"You will not die, but we must get underground before reinforcements come."  Finally the hand left John's face fully.  The man attached to it stepped back to give him space.  John turned around, face red and puffy from the tears that were stuck in his sinuses.  He looked at the man who caught him, from stained sneakers to Nuxalk printed bird-head hoodie.  Was that...

"Vulcan Raven?"

"You got it.  Come.  This way."  Vulcan Raven motioned behind him with an open hand.  Behind him was the dead driver.  The corpse's head was black and smoking, leaving behind a crystalline metallic residue.

"Oh my god, is that a kuricha?"

"Sure is.  Come on."  Raven pulled on John's sleeve, eyes bright but insistent.  There wasn't any time to waste before the creature recrystallized.

"I thought you killed them last season, I mean the season before that!"

"They're real.  They're back.  We get out of here or it recrystallizes, okay?"

"Okay okay."  John took a calming breath, then began walking fast back the way he came.  "Okay."

"This way."

Raven tugged John's sleeve to the side, then they both broke out into a jog towards a flashing light coming from a darkened hut.  John didn't look back.  He passed a tall pile of rubble.  Fortune Dolphin was there in combat gear with her railgun ready and plenty of ammunition at her feet.  Looking to the other side, John caught sight of Venom Snake preparing to flank with a knife if need be.  Incredible.

The hut's entrance grew closer.  Behind the last wall, Bomber Armadillo had grenades in a trebuchet, holding a piece of thin string tied to each pull-tab.  Raven shouted wordlessly at him; he began gathering the contraption.  John felt a second spurt of energy hit him that lifted his feet to float into the hut on a wave of panic and hope.  He passed by Sniper Wolf at the ready in the window when he hurled his body into darkness.

John hit concrete but got himself back up to keep running.  He felt hands on his back trying to help him but he kept  going forward.  Just being in a sand igloo didn't feel safe enough.  His eyes hadn't adjusted to the lower light, but his worn sneakers felt the bumps on corrugated iron stairs in time for him to throw his body sideways into the railing so that he slid and stumbled down as much as he fell.  He made contact with concrete again.  He could feel his skin roughed at knees and elbows and right forehead.  His pupils widened while looking back up the stairs.  Raven was racing down behind him with Venom in tow.  Someone was tugging at John's shoulders and Raven told him to get up.  Fortune and Bomber's feet rushed into the light at the top of the stairs.  Wolf slammed a metal door shut, then the metal cover to her window.  Darkness once again prevailed.

Green lights stabbed the hallway around John into visibility, harsh but effective in outlining detail.  Black stripes and stencils along raw plywood pointed toward deeper parts of a mine, and also efficiently lettered concourses.  Water pipes and electric wires ran along the floor from light to light, and then beyond a far off cage door.  Most of the group that had come for John ran back along the sloping hall, gear bouncing and reflecting nothing but green like night vision.  Raven put out his hands, hoping to help John up.  John realised another voice was asking him to stand.

"Or at least turn around," the man holding John's shoulders said with a familiar lilt.  John turned his upper body, still feeling dazed.  The back of his hand connected with bare abdominal flesh.  There was no mistaking the blonde behind him, requiring no confirmation.  "I want to see where you need mended."

"I'm fine," John said, swiping his hand away quickly.  Liquid Snake looked genuinely concerned for his wellbeing, and it gave him the jeebies, because most people didn't look at him like that, especially not long haired celebrity strangers who had their hands on him.  John stood out of Liquid's hold.  The snake operative was wearing his long coat.  The dark tails and long legs spread out on the floor beside him like orchids.  Wearing nothing under the coat but tight fitting leather pants.  John staggered forward so he could look away.  It was all really happening.

"No, I think I'm going to be sick?" John said before he could stop himself.  He ran down the hallway after the bright safety tape he could still see reflecting off of Bomber Armadillo's loose clothes.  Raven and Liquid didn't quite know what his problem was.

"You caught up!" Fortune said cheerily as John ran past.  "No you need to go to the right."  John turned around, feeling ashamed.  Fortune beamed at him, and then laughed.  She shouldered her railgun on its massive Mexican macramé strap.  "You wouldn't know your way around."  She put out her hand.  John wanted to grasp the hand out of handshake instinct beat into him at school, but held back.  His dad and âu preferred to bow.  That instinct took over instead and he gave Fortune a nose-high sampeah.  Fortune laughed again.  John blushed.  She was... really cute.  "Hold my hand; it gets really dark 'round here."

John felt ready to die about how silly he was being and how pretty Fortune was.  Get to hold her hand?  Sign him up.  But what a rube he was for thinking she wanted to shake hands.  John put his palm against Fortune's.  She grabbed onto him with a strong grip and started leading him down a side pathway without green emergency lights.  There was a tiny yellow flick at the tunnel's end.

"I'll ask you to kiss me later," Fortune said.  John made a guttural choke, and his blush was definite by then.  He tried to extricate his hand from hers, but found her hold too tight.

"Why would you kiss meee?!"  Yeah, smooth.  John was sure he sounded like his voice just broke there.

"I'm looking for my soulmate," Fortune explained, voice still light but certain.  "I've kissed everyone here, because when you feel true love's kiss, I just know I'll know it, you know?"

"No?"

"I've known it ever since I woke up.  There's someone out there.  And I'm going to marry them.  I had a dream about it.  I think it was a guy, but I can't be sure because The Boss is tall and all that.  But the person I love was tall and strong, and in the future, they put a ring on my finger, then kissed it.  Then they kissed me.  And I know, because my finger got this _feeling_ when I woke up, that when I kiss my soulmate, I'll feel that again."

"That's pretty romantic,"  John commented, struggling to keep up with Fortune's long strides.  "But it can't be me.  I'm not that tall.  I think you're taller than me?"

"You're not done growing, right?"

"I guess not."

They'd reached the end of the tunnel by then, where Bomber and Snake were waiting with an old alcohol lamp.  John could hear Liquid and Raven coming down the dirt path behind them.  Bomber looked ready to blow on his own, especially when he blew a curl out of his face.

"God, Fortune, have you been telling him about your soulmate?"  Bomber asked.

"Ye, why shouldn't I?"  Fortune puffed up her chest, towering over her shorter compatriot.

"Do you know the password?  Ocelot's changed it again."

"It's _fre shavaca do_.  It was on our monthly net drive in the memes folder."

"Okay yeah that video was on the drive, but no one told me that was the new password."  Bomber lowered the lamp to get more light on a standard phone keypad.  Slowly, he translated letters to numbers one peck at a time.  "We should just make it 42069."

"Cyber security is integral to mission success," Venom Snake said.  "Even if I don't understand how it works, we all owe it to Boss to carry out missions to specifications.  No getting lazy."

"You don't have to talk like that when the cameras aren't here."

"You don't have to be such a smart ass, Bomber.  We've got a newbie."

Bomber finally looked past Fortune's shoulder, trying to make out John's face.  John felt more like hiding behind the girl and her way too hot leather bodysuit.  Bomber sniffed up a pollen-stuffed nose.  The door unlocked.

"Let's get us in," Liquid said loudly just as Bomber was about to say something.  The blonde man pulled open the door, then held it open a few seconds for those who would follow.

"C'mon, everybody's excited to see you," Fortune said comfortingly while tugging John along.

Led by Fortune's strong hands, John stumbled forward along over-bright white halls that stretched upward forever.  Strange mobile shadows roamed the grid of tile floors and magnetically locked doors.  Looking up at least five floors of rock beyond his head, John saw more crystalline zombies step over a combination of wide steel grating and bulletproof support glass.  The topless rooms with their videogame glitch horrors filled him with vertigo.  At any moment, he felt a kuricha would clip through the translucent floor to kill him.  That he couldn't hear their footsteps made their flitting shadows worse.

Hands once again captured John's shoulders, gently.  John recognised Raven's smell, his senses heightened by apprehension.  The smell muffled his fears, and the hands on his shoulder felt warm and comforting.  Being connected to Fortune and Raven gave him an armour of allies in people he had only just met but had long trusted on the screen.

"I saw you looking up," Raven said in a low voice so that those who were walking beyond them could not hear.  "You don't need to fear them.  They can't sense anything through glass."

"Okay," John said.  He was glad Raven wasn't calling him out on being visibly afraid.

From two doors down the hallway, Liquid called out "Hurry."  Fortune squeezed John's hand.  John centred himself then trotted with her to meet Liquid.

When he looked in the door past Liquid's trenchcoat, John started to feel a sense of space.  He recognised the meeting room from a few seasons past, though it was one that hadn't been onscreen for a while.  The room was painted blue with stained glass hung like a chandelier to cast light tricks on the people and papers below.  Many confessions had happened in this room, of lost loves and waylaid plans.  John saw that holes in the walls had frayed wires coming out.  Looking opposite them, he saw familiar cracks and posters, so the holes must have been from whence cameras once caught scenes.  The central table still had a topographical map of Russia and her former dependents, along with detail papers about the infiltration in Treblinsk, left over from the last mission this meeting room had hosted.  Everyone was gathered in the room, slotted into the patchwork of stained glass photo tints from above.  Their skin and civilian clothing bathed in natural Instagram filters while they each exchanged a spark of recognition.  A rainbow of attention centred on John.

Blue eyes fluttering faster than butterfly wings, John looked from one familiar face to another.  Liquid Snake was already over at Solid Snake's side and pointing at the new kid.  Revolver Ocelot had attached to Venom Snake like case to phone, and John didn't notice any of the micro-glances he flickered over the boy.  Grey Fox had his arms crossed while mouthing something at Psychic Mantis who didn't seem too interested in anything from where his (her?  it was never actually clear to John since people didn't gender Mantis often) waifish form hovered.  Fortune Dolphin had broken off of John to wave over Sniper Wolf and...

"Sunny!"  John just about screamed in happiness.  He bolted across the room and even half-jumped the table to get to her.  He immediately subjected her to a vice grip, not even caring that he was completely squooshing her boobs : she was _Aunt_ Sunny.  After a second to catch her breath, Sunny hugged back.  Her cracked and bitten nails scratched at the short hairs on John's neck that matched her own super short cut.  Her big headphones banged into John's nose, and he couldn't be happier for the usual annoyance.

"Sunny, I'm so glad to see you.  Why are you here?"  John asked the obvious, but it was one of those questions that no one had a heart to mind.  Especially not Sunny, who intensified the hug just before backing out of it.  She smiled.

"I dunno.  But I knew you were coming."  Sunny always had the superpower of keeping her head in weird situations.  John was super thankful of it.

"Do you know where we are?"

"East Wyoming."

"Like, _where_ we are?"

"East Wyoming's the best my GPS got before I landed in here.  I know we're on the set of Fox...High.  And that that's... wow, a bit of an understatement?"  A tiny grimace flashed over Sunny's mouth.  She leant in to whisper into John's ear.  "People here are kinda crazy."

"You two know each other, like the file said," Grey Fox commented.  Next to him, Mantis had his head cocked.  John felt that sting of tiredness in the front of his head for the few moments he took to answer the statement.

"Yeah, this is Sunny.  She's kind of my Godmother?  She's a friend of my Dad's."  John winced.  The pain of missed sleep stabbed a bit harder at his eyes.

"She keeps trying to call herself Sunny.  We got that.  And she's a really good hacker."

"What else is she supposed to call herself?"

"It says Hacker Sunbear on her file," Fortune said a bit too innocently.

"We're supposed to stick to code names until the mission is over," Grey Fox said.

"Are we on a mission right now?"  John asked, starting to feel like he needed to fall down.  Then the sensation in his brain abruptly disappeared.

"Mission is a broad term," Ocelot explained from across the room.  The Southern honey in his voice drifted into the yellow light cast on him and his bright red scarf.  Red leather gloves helped mix it into the air with curling hand gestures.  "You might say, as an outsider, that our mission is over when the show is cancelled."

"Oh God, the 'show' again."  Bomber Armadillo scoffed.  "First he has to hear about Fortune's soulmate thing, and now your conspiracy theory?"

"He might as well get a crash course in our dysfunctions," Ocelot chuckled.

"Don't listen to him, Jack Rabbit," Bomber pleaded.  "There is no show.  Wait.  Dang.  Shiz.  Sunny believes the theory; you might too."

"Her nickname is properly infectious, Jack Rabbit,"  Ocelot countered with a wink sent to both John and Sunny.  "You get it, don't you?  Our general's code name is The Producer.  It's all incredibly suspicious."

"I would rather watch Fortune kiss Jack Rabbit right now than hear you explain your..."  Armadillo had shifted from his spot in the corner so he could argue closer to Ocelot, who leant back against Venom Snake, giving his best Knife Cat face.  But John didn't notice any of that.  At all.  Armadillo had walked away and revealed something behind him.  Something that made John gulp.

Long black hair tumbled down and mingled with thick felt and black lace before casting zebra stripes over ruffled Dover white sleeve ends and matching skin.  The long coat underneath had two domino capes attached at top, fluttering pocket tops at the upper thighs, and lines of button-down straps clinging tight to define a small waist and gorgeous hips.  Those long white hands had long black nails with rhinestones at the ends, and they drifted down to scratch at a tiny loose thread on super skinny black jeans around legs that went on forever inside thigh high leather boots.  The aglets swung freely to the beat of foot tapping with white tassels at the end.  Crowning the bewitching river of hair, a pair of vocaloid butterfly CoJo(tm) headphones, in Painted Lady sepia+white.  Whoever it was sat with an arm twisted over the back of old wrought iron chair like the others that littered the room.  But John knew instantly that this act of sitting was art, because, frankly, his groin said so.

Ignoring Ocelot and Bomber still nattering nearer to him, John walked away from the safety of Sunny and Raven to get a closer look at the Mystery Girl.  Seven footsteps brought him there.  His mind went through seven hundred thousand thoughts.  He realised quickly that he had a type.  Olivia had beautiful black hair like that.  Terra had long hair too, and green and black weren't that different when taking robot into account.  The dark style of clothing, framed in silver metal, that recalled movies from his youth that had fascinated him.  The skin could have sparkled.  Olivia had long legs too.  So did Terra.  And being so aloof as to ignore a newcomer in favour of whatever music played through those headphones that could well have been alien lifeforms?  He had to admit himself that was his type too, which is why Olivia had been bad for him.  He was smart enough to realise all this, but not smart enough to eschew repeating the mistake with a new princess.

"Hi, I'm John."  John waved his hand over near the front of the girl's turned face.  He spoke up loudly.  He wasn't going to be a doormat this time; that was how he'd do better in GF #2.

The dark hair twisted like a riptide, and John saw the long paper white face beyond.  He saw the red eyes framed in kohl and soot.  He saw the lilac lips.  He saw the hawkish nose.  He saw the squared jaw.  He saw the beginnings of a goatee.  Aaaaaabort abort abort.

"Hi, John, I'm Vamp."

Just abort and end my life now, John thought.  Because boy howdy that voice couldn't get more masculine and of course he knew who Vampire Bat was.  Like, his least favourite character because the vampire shtick was so fake and frankly his plotlines weren't well written and they didn't seem to know what to do with him.  And usually his hair was short and plastered to his head with wax.  And oh god, why did he have a gladius hanging over his crotch?

"It's, um, nice to meet you.  I'm new here."  John tried really hard to cover his tracks.  He had to be polite.  He had to.  He caught himself bowing, so straightened up.

Vamp smiled.  John swallowed upon the reveal of fangs.  But Vamp was... smiling pretty honestly.  The bottom lids of his eyes had pushed up.

"It's nice to meet you too.  Have you kissed Fortune yet?"

"Uhhhh, not yet."  Being polite, being polite.

"You should get it over with.  But who knows: maybe you're the soulmate.  If you are, know that I will haunt you to your quick grave if you treat her badly."  The bottom lids had dropped.  Vamp was being dead serious protective.

"Have _you_ kissed her?"  John wanted to cut out his own tongue, but really he had a theory that the two of them were still dating.  So his thoughts came out that way.

"Of course I have.  Everyone has."  Vamp's smile was genuine again.  He brushed his hair forward over his left shoulder.  It took several long strokes.  Then he turned his index finger in a circle while pointing at the floor.  His eyebrows hitched.  "Go on."

John turned around as bid.  Better than facing his mistake.  Fortune was there, looking somewhat expectant.  And she was definitely pretty.  All of her blonde hair was curled and kissed by sunshine rays.  Her skin was smooth and beautifully dark.  Her lips whispered of rosebuds and seashore nights.  Her body curved 100% nice good shape A+.  John consciously chose to feel guilty later about objectifying her for that brief bit.  He sort of felt like reëstablishing his heterosexuality in his brain after... Vamp.  So there was Fortune and frankly she was perfect.  John decided he had two types.  Bronze Goddess was the type that wanted to kiss him.

Their hands met again rather quickly.  Fortune had her nails done up too in gold and foil, but cut short to be practical.  John enjoyed noticing that.  He also enjoyed when both of her hands held his, and then she looked deep into his eyes.  Her pearl white teeth peeked when her lips parted for a moment.  A word had caught in her lovely long neck.  She closed her gold-trimmed eyes and leant forward to convey its meaning.

Fortune's lips were soft and warm.  John loved it.  He felt like the second when they kissed should have extended forever.  When it was gone, his mouth and heart longed for more.  Fortune let go of his hands.  She stepped back.  She shook her beautiful blonde head.  Her eyes were still closed.

"Another dud!"  Fortune laughed, really laughed hard.  Others joined.  John felt like a chipped piece of wall paint.

"You could have seen that coming," Venom said.  He was chewing on some sort of square log of a cracker.

"Well, I had to try," Fortune responded without malice.  She looked away from Venom and back to John.  "Sorry about that."

"Um, no, it's okay," John mumbled.  "Sorry that I couldn't be the one?"

"There's nothing to be sorry about!"

"Welcome to the club, kid," Solid Snake said.  Liquid was still at his side, but making faces at Mantis who was there too even though he'd just been at Grey Fox's side, hadn't he?

"Bravo.  Brava."  Liquid encouraged the performance, applauding above his head.

"The quest continues!"  Fortune raised her hands and turned in a circle.

"Do you kiss, okay I'm sorry for asking, but do you kiss everyone you meet, even on the field, like guards and stuff?"  John asked.

"No, that would be stupid,"  Fortune said.  "I know whoever it is is going to be a co-worker.  I remember we had the same badge."

"From your dream?"

"Yes."

"Okay.  That's fine."  John leant back on acquiescence to exeunt the situation where he'd become the latest joke.  He retreated to Sunny, who looked at him with sizeable sympathy.  Once at her side, he whispered "Help."

"You'll be okay," Sunny whispered back.  "They're crazy but they're nice.  They're kind of like little kids."

"We are kids, Sunny."  John was confident to group himself in with the other teenagers of Fox...High.

"The G1s —I mean Venom, Ocelot, and Fox— are 22."

"Wait what."

"They refer to each other by something close to TV season."

"No, that I got.  But 22."

"G1s are 22, G2s are 19 or 20, and G3s are 17 or 18."

"Not 15?"

"Do we look like 15-year-olds?"  From the shadows, a young Latin man with a very forgettable face emerged.  As he spoke, he didn't look particularly upset or amused.

"Oh, uh Decoy Octopus?"  John reminded himself to relax his tense posture.  He accepted, academically, Decoy Octopus' existence.  The young man, properly identified, nodded.  John tried to smile at him.  "I'm sorry.  I thought everyone was a lot younger."

"I am not sure where you got that information," Octopus said.

"You're all, all..."  John tried to motion a box with his hands.  He looked over to where ocelot and Bomber had been arguing.  They seemed to have stopped.  Probably because they had gotten involved in watching his failed kiss.  The moment he sensed he was being watched, Ocelot fixed his own gaze on John, purposefully and unhidden.  Bomber's attention moseyed over as well.  Feeling the tenor of the room, side conversations stopped.  Thirteen pairs of eyes fixed on John.

"You're all on a show," John admitted.

The room erupted.  Bomber shouted angrily to the heavens, Ocelot laughed at them, Grey Fox yelled about not starting all this again, the various side conversations started up in earnest, and Venom Snake finished crunching on his calorie mate.  John felt spiritually connected to Venom, in that he was jealous of the man's ability to be somehow not a part of the hoopla despite being pretty much physically attached at the hip, via hand on the hip, to Ocelot, one of the upset's two main perpetrators.  Like a llama, he had a snack while the world burned.  John longed for that peace of mind.

Surprisingly, it was Decoy Octopus who shouted them all down.  "Does this change anything about how we live?"  He asked loudly.

"No, but it's stupid.  It's philosophically stupid."  Sniper Wolf crossed her arms while answering.

"Now, Wolf," Ocelot began, red hand outstretched.

"I love you, Ocelot, but it's stupid." Wolf's index finger shot up to silence him from across the room.

"She means that it's solipsism," Mantis rasped quietly.  John was impressed that everyone allowed him to speak even though his voice seemed so small.  The boy's curly red mess of hair seemed bigger than his voice, or his head including the gas mask.  "If I may summarise the current discourse?"

"Don't let them stop you," Liquid said.

"The theory holds that we are on what is called a reality television show.  We are unwitting actors, carrying on our classified operations for the viewing pleasure of an outside audience.  Ocelot interprets certain mission code names as actual production titles, and infers that the chest-height bio-data cameras also function for transmitting video to an off-site server for processing."

"Yeah, that's it,"  John said while nodding.  He tugged at some of the dead frayed wires coming out of the hole in the wall nearest to him.  "If the cameras that were here were those bio cameras, then yeah, they were film cameras.  Everyone in the world can see you."

"Always?"  Fortune asked, definitely freaked.

"Let Mantis finish," Liquid said.  At his cue, Mantis continued.

"The opposing theory holds that we are not on a TV show.  It seems like a very simple stance, but the discourse has risen to the point that being pro-show is philosophically equivalent to a belief in a simulated reality, holographic universe, or pure solipsism.  In other words, assuming that we exist for the entertainment of others through a hyperreal fabrication of reality would be a truth so harsh and unfair that it undermines both the belief in a loving deity and a logical and randomly generated universe in line with current scientific data."

John looked to Sunny, feeling surprise and guilt.  He didn't want to be responsible for undermining the belief in God or a fair universe.  Maybe they could laugh at him kissing again: that seemed a kinder option for the group's psychological status.

"Both of our newcomers have expressed a firm and theoretically provable belief in the pro-show theory," Mantis concluded.  "Though the evidence is not yet forthcoming."

"I said I could show them proof if I had my laptop, or Wolfie,"  Sunny said, hands clasped together.  "But the people who took me and knocked me out stripped me and stole everything once I arrived at the compound.  They have intranet here that I've been cracking into, and one of the admin computers may have internet access, but so far I think this place is off the grid."

John stood dumbly for a few seconds, then started patting down his body.  Wide eyed, he kept feeling around his chest until he finally remembered that he didn't have a coat on, only two layers of tank top.  He grabbed his butt, and there was rectangular proof.  He pulled out his phone and handed it to Sunny.  "I have my phone," he said in excitement.

Quickly, Sunny grabbed it, and went right to its settings.  "No bars, no connection," she thought aloud.  She tapped at it until she was in the internal console, beginning to pick apart familiar Apple code she'd cracked many times in the past.  While she concentrated, frustration overtook hope.  Then she looked upwards at the glass and iron ceiling.  "Oh my god.  It's so obvious.  We're in a Faraday Cage."

Sunny jogged to the door.  "Everyone, come outside."

"There's kurichas out there!"  Grey Fox protested.

"Just give me a minute, 60 seconds!"  Sunny was already running back the way that John had fearfully come.  Fortune and Wolf exchanged a quick look before running after her.

"We'll bring cover fire," Fortune shouted.  John jerked his body around to follow, but Vulcan Raven caught him again.

"Two people should not die,"  Raven said.  It didn't take much else for John to give up on throwing himself back into danger.  He stepped out of Raven's hold, then sat on an open iron chair, doubly uncomfortable.


	4. wherein everyone loves the boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **friend:** is kuricha something from mgs5 or  
>  **me:** it's METAL GEAR SURVIVE. kurichas are what they call the zombies. I would feel dirty for including a metal gear survive reference but i'm too busy laughing instead  
>  **friend:** how fucking dare you

Up above, Sunny climbed the sunless dirt and stone steps back to the surface. Fortune and Wolf caught up to her in very good time, having trained their legs for higher paces than that. Wordless, they made it back topside. Sunny ran to the window next to the metal door. She tore back the iron grate before it, then pushed up the pane, then stuck both hands out, with the phone open to the sky. Human forms sat up from the dust, ravaged farmers and miners bitten raw by dust with crystals growing from their wounds. On either side of Sunny's body, muzzles poked out to take the monsters down if they got too close. Sunny got back into dissecting the Wi-Fi. 

It did not go well. Sunny got more and more frustrated, both at the lack of the signal and how hard it was to type on the phone screen. The two annoyances fed on each other before dread swallowed them up. Sunny shut off the phone. Wolf fired. A kuricha dropped, but two were coming in fast to take its place. Sunny almost blocked the horrendously loud noise out. She was busy living in the worst of possible worlds. 

When Sunny came back into the room, John immediately came to her side, hopeful. Sunny sighed painfully. She shook her head and returned his phone. 

"John, keep it off no matter what to save battery, got it?" Sunny instructed. 

"I got it but..." John fished for a report on the signal. 

"There's no signal. We're not just too far away; the whole place is actively blocking signals. I timed it. I checked. Your tracking signal is being beaten back like pong." 

"I'm being tracked?" 

"Nothing's allowed to be easy," Sunny sighed. 

"I'm being—" 

"Yes," Sunny snapped, then softened. "I'm sorry, John. It wasn't my idea but, well, it was meant for situations like this, if you could keep your phone." 

"But there's no signal?" John's optimism had sharply turned into horror at the breach of his privacy (probably thanks to _Dad_ ) but then it sank into melancholy. The light had disappeared. He'd believed in Sunny. As long as she was there, things could work out, he'd thought. He saw hope flee from her, and he had no chance to catch it. 

"No signal," Sunny confirmed. 

"You said there's proof that we're on a 'show' on that thing." Grey Fox prompted, glowering in the corner. The argument had heated up again the moment Sunny left the room and he wanted it to be over for good. 

"I could show you pictures of the outside world, but would you believe that?" Sunny asked. 

"We've been in the outside world," Decoy Octopus said with a twinge of disgust at the question. 

"I downloaded the theme song," John offered. 

"We know we have a theme song. I wrote it," Bomber Armadillo crowed. 

"The show has the same theme song since season one." John wasn't about to call BS since it was entirely possible that Bomber had been a teen song writer previous to appearing on the show. Instead of accusation, his brows writ confusion. He rushed out the theme's beginning unsteadily: 

"When the world needs saving, we count on you, perfect soldier Grey and the break-in crew. You go hard, never die. Hold your cards, find the lie. You're a teen, you're a spy, Fox... High." 

"No, that's the _shiz_ theme I told the Producer not to go with! Mine was better! Vamp, sing it." 

"Does it matter right now?" Vamp drawled, looking at his music player. 

"You're the best singer," Bomber insisted. 

"I think he means that the logic of the situation has changed," Ocelot noted. "If the only theme our two new teammates know is the one Producer wrote, the musical virtuosity of yours has no bearing on whether or not we live in a simulation." 

"Instead, we're stuck in a conundrum." Mantis shook his flouncy red head. 

"How do you suppose?" Liquid prompted. He kept his eyes on the other boy, daring him not to disappear like he seemed to desire. 

"Hacker Sunbear wanted to prove we're in a show by using the machine to contact sites outside of the base, and then call for an extraction unit. She also wished to alert Jack Rabbit's parents as to his location and safety. However, it seems that she cannot get the machine to work as intended, so we are left without contact. We have no additional facts about our status as a simulation. We only have two new individuals with preconceived notions about our reality. These could have been easily implanted through hypnosis." 

"You got that from reading her mind?" Liquid asked. Mantis nodded. 

"Then why can't you read our minds and see that we're telling the truth?!" John shouted. He didn't like being called an inadvertent liar. 

"Don't be such an uppity git : he said that it could be hypnosis." Liquid stood so that his body and coat could block Mantis from verbal harm or the evil eye or something. This close, seeing or downright feeling the body language in person, John got the idea that the fan-speculah'd LiquidMantis ship was actually IRL sailing. And only careful editing was keeping it hidden. Ronnie would be screaming if she could see it. 

"I've never been hypnotised in my life." Despite the palpable waves of protection bleeding from Liquid, John did not fear sticking up for his brain's integrity. Liquid's demeanour calmed instantly when he realised John wasn't going after Mantis. 

"You could have been hypnotised to think that." Yet annoyingly, Liquid seemed to be arguing the point just to argue it. Classic Liquid, but not what John needed right then. 

"I'm not... augh." John shook his fists in the air and walked around in a quick circle. Liquid was beginning to smile, sensing a win. After rifling through memories, John found a counterattack. "Can't Mantis break the hypnosis if we have any like he did in season two when the cultists of Ithaqua and Glaaki brainwashed Raven?" 

"I knew Vulcan Raven's uninterrupted mind in great detail," Mantis explained while sinking down behind Liquid. "But this is the first time that I have met you." 

"So I'm stuck here? I don't get to go home?" Jack asked desperately. 

"We get to go home when the mission's done," Grey Fox supplied. 

"When's the mission done? You said the mission is this entire show— this whole big thing. When is that over? When can I..." John felt ready to cry despite how he hated to do so around other people. He felt Sunny's familiar arms come around him and her silky blonde hair touched his right ear. 

"It's okay. I'm here." Sunny tried to speak in a low comforting tone despite her perpetually high pitched voice. John felt his back lean in to her. He really did need that right then. "We'll get home." 

"You're just saying that," John sulked with his father's habit of denying comfort. Sunny had dealt with Jack, so holding John back from pouting to death was nothing. She tightened her hold and gave her arms the biggest workout she could to pick him up just an inch off the floor. 

"I am not," Sunny protested while holding the boy up as long as she could. Soon, his sneakers were back on the linoleum tiles. "They're going to send us out on a mini mission for one episode, right? When they do that, when we get out of here, I'll steal your phone again and call directly for help. Okay?" 

"If you say so, Sunny." 

"I say so grumpy. I have to be the adult here. Other than The Boss." 

"Yeah what's taking her so long?" Bomber Armadillo wondered. "We got Jack Rabbit here safe." 

"Probably it is what Sunny did to her," Wolf guessed. 

John turned around quickly in Sunny's loosened hold. "What did you do to the boss?" 

"Well she's a robot," Sunny explained, "so I tried to use her to get at the outside but she runs on an intranet. I couldn't get her signal to penetrate the compound." 

"The Boss is a robot?!" John's eyes were becoming china plates, painted the same glossy blue by surprise. He stepped back a bit to give Sunny space and ended up backing onto Vamp's coat and foot. While John hopped forward with an apology, the vampire's manicured hands pushed him away and to the side. A silent whithering glance followed. That lasted a second before Vamp looked back down at his scratched iPod screen. 

"It surprised us too," Ocelot said. Once he had John's attention, he beckoned the boy over to the other side of the map table where there were empty chairs. John didn't feel like leaving the corner of the room dominated by Sunny and the rest of the ladies. "No one expects their mom to be a robot." 

"The Boss is your mother?" Even as John said this, Ocelot was smiling as a prelude to laughter based on that shocked face he was making. 

"Team Mom. Of course she's not my mother. She's a robot, didn'cha hear? My actual mother is..." Ocelot trailed off, and his eyes became blank. It was a look of self-directed anger and incomprehension which John had never seen on him in the show, or any human being. Ocelot blinked the fugue away, and smiled as usual. "Back in Russia." 

John knew that was a lie, but worse, he got the feeling that Ocelot didn't know it was. 

"She's a really well made android," Sunny said. "She's using cyborg technology for most of her frame like on your dad, and some of the best synth skin and facial rigging in the industry. SO when she puts you through training, there's real muscles and grip, with balance based walk patterns. And, wow, her vocal bank is unreal. The programming is even better. It's so idiosyncratic, and it's practically ancient, especially the construction of—" 

"Is no one going to talk about it?" John talked over Sunny, annoyed. 

"I'm sorry? I'm trying to explain it?" 

"Not The Boss being a robot. That's fine. Whatever. I mean Ocelot. He blanked." 

"So he had a brain fart?" Octopus spoke up in defence. "Everyone does that." 

"People say uh when they're brain farting." John crossed his arms, looking between Ocelot's side of the room and Sunny's. 

"Ocelot doesn't say uh," Venom said while folding up the wrapper from his food-like nutrition bar. Ocelot preened at his side, taking that as a supreme compliment. 

"No, um, John," Sunny spoke to John, slipping her mouth close to his ear again. "Everyone here does it. Just. Like. That." 

The mental image of everyone here who he knew from TV becoming tortured and lost for a few dead white seconds, especially out on the battlefield as bullets flew, sent a chill down John's spine. Careful editing had hid this from the audience. Oh god, what else? 

The conference room door opened again. The Boss stepped into the rainbow dappled room which painted her light skin and blonde hair in red and blue war paint. The soldiers and Sunny snapped to attention. After a second trapped in her intense stare, John did so too. 

"I take it you have all been talking about me," The Boss said in a conversational tone. 

"Vaguely, Boss," Solid Snake said. "The new recruits were talking about how you're, uh, a robot." 

"I bet you're wondering why I didn't tell everyone about that immediately." The Boss addressed this to John and Sunny. "The answer is that it makes no difference. I am who I am, no matter what kind of body I come packaged in, and I have the same lessons to teach you." A smile finally tickled the edges of her eyes. "Although I have to say, having Sunny mess around inside of me was just a bit fun." 

"I'm sorry, Boss," Sunny said automatically with the same clipped military tome as Snake. John hadn't asked how long she'd been here, he realised. But slipping into that speech pattern said that it was longer than a few days. 

"Recruit, I'll let you know right now: we take desertion attempts seriously here. Normally, Sunny would still be in the brig for trying to break out of here. But in that attempt, she proved her skills as Hacker Sunbear conclusively. If you try to do something like that, you'll be in the brig with only two meals for at least a week. Understood?" 

John swallowed. He knew The Boss could get serious, even harsh. That's how she pushed her trainees to be the best they could be. He knew she could also be supportive, loving, loyal, and amazing. Right now he was getting the rules. He understood. He nodded. 

"I said, understood, recruit?" The Boss repeated herself, lowering her brows. John felt her gaze like a blue laser. Finally he got the hint. 

"Yes, Boss!" He yelled, standing up straight as he could. 

The Boss nodded once. "Good. You're Jack Rabbit, correct?" 

"No, Boss! My name is John Emmerich." Despite being burned right through the heart by The Boss' eyes, John would absolutely not back down from fighting for his identity. The boss was not amused; she intensified her laser. 

"We don't have civilian names on this mission. You _are_ Jack Rabbit. Are you Jack Rabbit?" 

John was very torn. He wanted to be John, not Jack. His dad was Jack, and really only people his dad didn't like called him Jack regularly. Yet, John did not want to let The Boss down or get thrown in the brig. As a person, he liked her, and looked up to her as yet another awesome woman in the military that he couldn't come close to being as cool as. As a robot, he understood that she probably wasn't programmed to understand him as anything other than Jack Rabbit, so he really should have empathy for her drill sergeant request. It was time to make allowances. 

"Yes, Boss." 

"Louder." 

"Yes, Boss!" 

"Good." The Boss nodded. In her glass eyes, just in the tilt of the silicone lids around them, or perhaps in the imperceptible twinkle of how they caught the light from the slightest of cervical inclines, John sensed actual approval. "According to the producer, you've been previously trained by your father, who graduated Foxhound training, rigorously studied aikido, and performed numerous acts of bravery and elite service to both the United States of America and world peace." 

John's own neck stiffened. That described his father pretty well, he could guess. But he wasn't the recipient of any martial training thanks to his father's staunch no-child-soldier policy. 

"Because of our previous training, you are remit from undergoing mission base training." 

At that, John definitely threw hesitance out the window. Every season, basic training for the new recruits was gruelling. Basic training doubtless painted those purple crescents under Sunny's eyes and the pine-needle stripes of red across her limbs. John fully intended to play along now. 

"You come highly recommended, Jack Rabbit," The Boss concluded. She drew a thick metal rod from one of her waist rings, then telescoped it out with a flick of the wrist. The rod clicked into a training form more like a practice sword. She held it out. "I never studied Asian forms of sword fighting. Perhaps you'd like to show us a few manoeuvres." 

Playing along just got incredibly hard. 

"Boss, I don't think that's a good idea, because, uh..." John searched for a way out, looking to either side of him. There were nothing but expectant faces turned toward him, a room packed full of starry eyes and brimming smiles. "The room's too small." 

"We can move to a practice room." 

"I'm real tired from the kidnapping, Boss, I mean the car ride? And I don't think I could show off anything really well? And it's nothing you haven't seen before, I'm super sure. Because you're the best soldier in the world, Boss, and you know every fighting style. And I don't want to be a show off." 

"Take it." 

John had no choice ; he took the practice rod. 

"Block my attack," The Boss commanded. 

"W-what?" John squeaked. The Boss waited a few moments for John to get into a ready stance, eyes thinning. "I mean: What, Boss?" 

Seeing as John was never going to get into any stance, The Boss lunged. Her open palm came forward, attempting to grab the practice rod. Her body didn't turn to the side for basic target management. If John had any training, her open attack could have easily been deflected by striking her wrist or forearm with the rod; or by slipping to the side and striking at her chest; or by ducking into a hilt-thrust at her abdomen; or even by allowing capture of the weapon for an unconventional eye-jab. 

Instead, John yelped, raised the rod in front of his face as part of instinctual defence, and was immediately disarmed. The Boss used her momentum immediately to flatten John onto the floor, and pinned him with no effort. Her body was surprisingly soft despite its weight. Whoever had constructed her had been keen to make her as close to a human as possible to mimic actual combatants. Finally, she released John. The faces observing the bout had gone from excitement to disappointment or even disgust. She didn't look like disappointment was even worth registering, although her eyes cascaded over John's body while she stood. 

"You haven't been trained at all," She said. John was too busy repeating "ow" to respond. "I'm not actually authorised to train you. But I should." 

Soaking in his own pain and embarrassment, John hoped that lack of authorisation ran programming deep. Otherwise, The Boss would absolutely begin gruelling training. When she reached down for him, he was certain that the ordeal was about to commence with 20 push-ups and 20 squats. 

The Boss helped John onto his feet. Her brows were dark, but not in anger at him. Her eyes kept jumping about, tugged to the right by an unseen string. The pupils reset after dilating to black. "I apologise, Jack Rabbit. The Producer informs me that you were trained only in espionage, not combat." 

Having never met the show's producer before in his life, John felt the overwhelming and soul-deep urge to hug him or her. 

"Yes, Boss. I'm not as good at sneaking as my sister, but I can definitely stay quiet." John stretched the truth just a little. He did know how to sneak and be quiet, but not in a military setting. More in the sense that when he was little, he was convinced that monsters came out in the dark and whenever he moved around the house at night he had to be very very silent or freeze in place between his room and the bathroom or kitchen. Vanna on the other hand was just legitimately good at sneaking. 

"I had been hoping to use the time we had before your first mission to evaluate your combat readiness, but allowed you time to bond with your teammates instead." 

"Thank you, Boss." 

"You and Hacker Sunbear tried to go AWOL instead." 

John didn't answer that accusation. From The Boss' perspective, as well as any logical perspective, it was true. 

"The cameras will arrive in thirty minutes to record mission progress. Make sure that Jack Rabbit changes into uniform and goes to the mess hall. Dismissed." The Boss' shoulders lowered before she turned around and left accompanied by a chorus of "Yes, Boss" from all present. 

In her absence John felt like the wheat in between turns of a mill stone. Her direct accusation had left, and now his peers were ready to judge him instead. The few seconds that everyone spent silently jockeying to be the first to speak were torture. Glances inside the pregnant pause waged war between curiosity, accusation, and clemency. Sunny saved John. 

"You heard The Boss. We need to get him changed and feed him breakfast," Sunny said while leading John to the door by his shoulders away from the now broken floodgate of words. 

"A master sneaker, huh?" Solid Snake asked. 

"I thought you were supposed to be an edgelord," Fortune said with disappointment. 

"Maybe he's actually not good at anything," Bomber Armadillo commented. John shot the kid a dirty look over his shoulder. He wanted to say something mean back. He hadn't made up his mind about anyone else in the transition from TV to reality, but he thought this guy was a nasty piece of work offscreen. He hadn't said a single nice thing. 

"My room has an extra cot, so it's probably for you," Sunny said. She conducted John's body to the right down the white hall. John figured her deëscalation was wise in the long run. "We'll pick up clothes at the supply closet. Probably a small and a medium; what do you think?" 

"Thanks, Sunny," John said in a general sense. Sunny hummed in answer, understanding. 

## 

Losing John was not a new experience for Raiden, yet each time the separation destroyed him more thoroughly. First, the baby had been "miscarried" which hadn't helped Raiden's drinking. He was sure it was the fault of that drinking that he had made Rose sad enough to miscarry. It was his failing as a father before he'd even properly become one. Second, Raiden had to send John and Rosemary away far from him out of fear that his work would hurt them. That had been a greater failure as a father because he wasn't a good stable provider. He was a dangerous monster, not an object for love. Because he loved them so dearly, he couldn't let his presence taint them. On this third loss of John, Raiden felt the worst he ever had, because fate had proved to him yet again that no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many years passed when he could give his son a normal childhood and a loving home, he still failed as a father. One lapse, one day when he hadn't simply been there... no, he should have walked his son home every day irrespective of how independent John wanted to be. No, he should have been a better father sooner. He should have known that John was unhappy with him. He could have changed again. He could have done everything for John if he had listened. He'd lost his son again, and he knew it was all his fault. But worse still: this time he'd also lost his daughter. 

Jetstream Sam recognised Raiden's melancholy. The painful clouded blue stare and downward pursed lips accompanied the return of Raiden's Solid Snake vocal impression. The man would build a wall around himself, and act tougher, and try to push everyone away because he thought he was unworthy of love. Sam rubbed at his eyes, remembering the nights and days and weeks spent coddling Raiden until he would _live_ again. Fighting, arguing, playing, making love, weaving impossible dreams for the future: whatever it took to let passion burn through sadness. After the divorce, this despair had become rare. The one enrapturing Raiden was making up for lost time. 

Raiden had been making rounds of phone calls, rasping into the lines with mixed anger and desperation. Mei Ling had confirmed that army and navy bases had no record of new recruits matching John's description. By the time he called up Otacon, his anger boiled away. He was shivering next to the phone, almost falling apart. Next to him, vibrating in his own stupor, Sam had a hand on Raiden's thigh like a load bearing beam to keep them both together. Raiden almost crushed the phone casing and Sam's hand blanched from the tight pressure around his blade's scabbard. They both wanted to run out and look for their children. Running blind wouldn't help. Monsoon was already doing that, speeding to the Southwest along power lines in case Vanna was wandering lost. Mei Ling had no concrete ideas as to where they could be, but in light of Rose's accusation she did give them the exact location of the set where she'd visited Fox...High. That was one lead but... 

Finally Otacon picked up. Raiden whimpered his name. 

"Raiden, are you okay?" Otacon asked softly. 

"John's gone. Vanna's gone. We don't know where they are. Get your tracker thing." 

"My tracker? Oh. Okay... it's loading, it's loading." Otacon minimised everything he was doing and booted up the tracker app interface. In two seconds, the satellites finished searching. Otacon heard his name through the line again. He didn't really know the best way to say what the truth was. The truth always hurt, but at least it was real. So that had to do. "They're not anywhere on the tracking map. The system can't find them." 

"Did you check them separately?" 

"I put both their IDs in—" 

"Put them in one at a time," Raiden pleaded. He didn't know how the program worked but superstitiously he wanted to believe that this would work. 

"It doesn't see John." Otacon paused. "It doesn't see Giovanna." 

"What are we going to do?" Raiden covered his mouth to hide that he was biting at his palm. Sam's metal hand put more pressure on Raiden's artificial thigh. 

"There's two reasons that the tracker can't see them: either they're someplace that's blocking their outgoing signal, which could be anywhere if someone is keeping a signal jammer nearby them, or someone removed their implants." 

Otacon did not relish delivering this information either. He heard Raiden choke on the other side of the line. The thought of a child having the implant ripped out, or even to be sedated while it was removed surgically, was disgusting. Raiden hadn't enjoyed tagging his children in the first place, but he'd done it because he was afraid of a kidnapping. Just like this. But now that the worst had truly happened, the tracker was useless. 

"Do you know if John is really in Fox...High?" 

"Huh?" 

"Rose showed us something on the phone with him in it. Maybe she's right. Maybe he's on his way there." 

"No, he can't be," Sam insisted. 

"Like you wouldn't want to be on your favourite show?" Raiden scowled at his husband. Sam looked away guiltily, because that was something he would do, and because he couldn't deny that John had learned some of that behaviour from him over the past 8 years. 

"I got into their production servers just a while ago. It should be easy to go back in," Otacon said, already typing and priming up the pathways. 

It wasn't hard to get back to the portals he'd bypassed the first time, and his card file of passwords automatically inputted the needed codes again. No one had changed the website's passwords. His first entry had left no trace nor alarm. He clicked through the files again, sorting for never ones. File names definitely told stories without even opening their contents. 

"Rose might be on to something? There's two new characters appearing this season since I last checked? Hacker Sunbear and Jack Rabbit... wait..." Otacon clicked pictures open concurrent with downloading all of the files with a macro. His throat grew dry. "Oh my god, it's Sunny and John." 

"What about Vanna?" Raiden asked eagerly. His free hand grabbed Sam's shoulder. They shared a worried glance that was ready to feel relieved instead: if Vanna were also at Fox...High, every missing person would be accounted for. 

"I'll go through all of the new images." All parties suffered through the quick side arrow tapping while Otacon personally scanned the images. He set some aside for better inspection, just based on seeing dark skin or hair. In the end, there was nothing but Vulcan Raven who didn't even look like a little girl, Vamp with bedhead hiding in shadow, and Sniper Wolf wearing a brown and bronze hijab. "There's nothing. She's not here. But I'll go deeper in the actual server. Okay? I'll have to crack some more passwords, but I swear we'll find her if she's there." 

Otacon had already started poking outside the official site. Getting into the videos was easy. Live feed from cameras in the compound was encrypted, so he talked the other end of the phone call through his process to set up some decryption algorithms for that. He narrated going along through folders with scripts and production data. He announced finding a sister site with its own cache. Then, he yelped. 

Raiden and Sam waited for Otacon's normal voice to return, figuring he'd spilled a drink. Instead, Otacon started repeating no no no, and typing furiously. Finally, there was a slam of phone on table, a chair thrown back, and a rustle-thunk, and a pop pop pop. Otacon breathed into the phone after he picked it up again. That hadn't been good. 

"I had to unplug my system, sorry," Otacon explained. 

"Unplug?" 

"I'm not the only brilliant computer scientist out there. Someone was trying to put a worm in my computer as a thank you for getting onto that protected server. I'll have to debug everything once I restart, but I think I stopped it halfway? Then we can really have our own little fight." 

"A hacking fight? What about John and Sunny?" 

"I'd bet you a million dollars they're on set. Do you need the address?" 

"We got one from Mei Ling. Wyoming, an old mine site." 

"Yeah, that matches what I remember. Go there first. Then I can pin it down better if that doesn't work." Fire built a warmth into Otacon's voice and determination in his spirit. He pushed up his glasses. He had kids to save. 

"I guess this is a mission now," Raiden said while a shiver ran down his spine in nerves and wires. A horrible monstrous part of his psyche imagined that he'd be slicing apart androids by daybreak. He hated to admit that if they were the ones to kidnap his children, he'd enjoy killing them, ripper or not. 

"We still don't know where Giovanna is," Sam said. 

"We have to start somewhere, and we can trust Otacon. With anything." 

"I promise!" Otacon affirmed. "I'm sending a text to Natasha too; she can help in case Russia's involved. We should keep Mei Ling in the loop." 

"She's the one who writes for the show..." Raiden sighed. 

"Raiden," Otacon chided, "you know Mei Ling like you know me. Do you really think she'd do this if she thought kids would get hurt?" 

"No, you're..." Raiden swallowed his next word while rubbing the back of his neck. Sam caught his hand before his nervous claws could do damage. "I guess we're all Philanthropists now." 

"Vanna's been kidnapped!" Monsoon shouted across the house while the front door jingled open. 

"We know," Sam yelled. 

"Leang's sister saw her get nabbed and we have a license plate!" Monsoon's hand holding a ripped paper reached Raiden and Sam long before the rest of him ran over. Sam grabbed the paper with a strong hand and intense glare down at it. 

"111-555," Raiden read the letters into the phone loudly. "License plate number!" 

"Searching right now!" Furious typing accompanied Otacon's words. "We'll have to wait on the traffic cameras, but that car won't get far. I have it on top priority." 

"Who goes where?" Raiden shifted around until his knees knocked into Sam's. His worried excitement knotted his brows. 

"Maybe I should follow the car, for Giovanna," Sam proposed. 

"And I should go to Wyoming for John and Sunny." 

"And I should...?" Monsoon fished. 

"You don't need to come with us at all," Raiden said. 

"Mercedes still has surgeries you should assist," Samuel agreed. 

"The kids are gone and I want to help," Monsoon said with rising offence. 

"They're our kids," Raiden growled, pressing his shoulder into Sam's. 

"Jack!" 

On the other end of the phone line, Otacon spoke up: "I have four hits coming back from cameras. The car headed up to the interstate. It's going North on 25." 

"The airport is to the East," Sam wondered out loud. 

"Wyoming is in the North," Raiden concluded. "They're taking her to Fox...High. John must be in another car going the same way." 

"I'd say that makes sense," Otacon agreed. "We should send out a drone to trail the first car when we get another camera hit." 

"We need to get in the car now," Raiden said hurriedly into the phone. He rose immediately from the chaise next to Sam. "Otacon, can you somehow reroute traffic? At least the self-driving cars? We need to catch up." 

"We'll never catch it in time," Sam said, trailing Raiden's back. "The car is far ahead of us." 

"Are you giving up?!" 

"No! We should fly!" 

"Oh... oh, right. Otacon, can you get us a charter plane?" 

"Well, yeah, sure." Otacon closed out of the traffic router system before he'd even selected Colorado. He had been ready to uphold the first demand and now another came on its heel. "We can rout you out of Sunny's or just Denver international, with a low flying plane. You're up to just making a drop right onto the road, right, Raiden?" 

"Absolutely." 

"It'll be easier if one of you can fly. Chartering a pilot is—" 

"I can pilot!" Monsoon yelled. Raiden and Sam looked at him with surprise, both that he claimed he could fly and that he could hear the phone call. 

"Since when?" Raiden asked, his affected growl thrust aside by honest confusion. His big blue eye blinked. 

"I can't pilot a _plane_ ," Monsoon explained, bent arms moving an idea through the air as an imaginary box. "But you know what I _can_ pilot." 

"Ohgodno." Raiden rolled his eyes then punched his thigh instead of counting to ten. He held up a finger. "No." 

"No what?" Otacon asked, voice crinkled by the phone's distortion. 

Monsoon spread his arms and smiled as if Raiden's reluctance meant nothing to him: "Metal Gear." 

## 

Fox... High's uniforms came pre-packaged and labelled. In the supply closet, Jack Rabbit's uniform sat fivefold with a labelled dop kit on top. John and Sunny split the stack roughly in two to carry it back to her room. The room itself was a Spartan cinderblock embellished only with the forest green canvas of John's extra cot. Sunny's custom built laptop sat on the one metal table, plugged into the wall with a wad of paper sitting in a weird empty cave in its side. 

Sunny saw John staring at it and explained, "They took out the battery and Wi-Fi. And then they took it away." 

"Who is— they?" John asked. 

"I don't know. The production team? The Producer? It happened while I was unconscious. Just a note left behind. I don't know who's behind this, but they have money and military backing. That's pretty obvious." 

"I want to go home. Okay, I know I said that before." 

"It's legit, fine." Sunny sighed. "I want to go home too. But we're here now. I'm more worried about the next mission. Do you think they use real guns?" 

"You haven't been on a mission yet?" 

"No, just training with The Boss." 

"It looks pretty bad." John motioned to Sunny's scrapes. 

"It's not so bad. I can't get mad at her for following her programming. It's kind of funny actually. She's not authorised to train you. So she can't." Sunny quickly redid the clip in her hair: two sharp snaps. "She's a really great AI. You can see emotion in her. Man, if we weren't forced to be here, I'd do anything to see her source code." 

"The Boss's already rubbed off on you?" John let one of the folded uniforms fall open. He couldn't tell if he had it right side up or not. 

"Is that normal?" 

"For The Boss? Definitely. Uhm, how do I get this on..." 

Minutes later, John was clothed but still felt naked. The sneaking suit stuck to his body like a black pore mask, and threatened to creep up inside his skin just the same. At first, he swore that his ribs were showing through, but that was just the chest piece's construction. He had no idea how his thigh and hip holsters were staying on, or why his shoulders needed extra protection, or why his sternum required a big thick metal bar over it. And there was so much string left over after Sunny pulled the laces tight to fit his skinny body that long bows fell off of his shoulders and hips. John figured that on a body more toned than his, the suit would look intimidating. The laces would snap together at their ends like they were supposed to as muscle filled the cavernous knees and shoulders. However, on John, the suit looked like baby's first submissive dungeon uniform or something. 

"I'm Ebony D'Arkness Dementia Raven Way," John moaned. He was glad that Sunny's room didn't have a mirror, or he'd have to look at more of himself in it as opposed to just staring down his front. 

"You don't look bad." 

"I'm goffik." 

"John, you look fine. It's a combat suit. It's black for sneaking around at night, and padded in places of high wear." 

"I'm Sans Undertale." John ran a short nail down the ribs of his chest cover, still displeased. 

"That's an aquatic breathing system. Here." Sunny picked up the suit's mask and shook it until it filled out. "You breathe through these canisters, and the system can scrub CO2 from your exhalation and separate oxygen from water. Once you click the bottom of the mask into place in the sternum's upper slot, the entire suit pressurises as a dry suit for diving." 

"Am I supposed to fight underwater?" 

"Uncle Hal and I used a system like this in Puerto Rico for looking at tropical fish. It's not weird. And it's a lot better than breathing pink liquid for your oxygen." Sunny handed over the mask. John didn't take it. Sunny undid his hip pouch, then stuffed the mask in over his phone. Better to hide it that way. "It's probably something your dad did once. They're hung up on our parents." 

John sighed. He sat down on Sunny's bed, and felt the fresh suit squeeze and around him. It hadn't been broken in yet. "If Jack Rabbit's my dad —I mean mama Rose and other people call him Jack sometimes so that's probably his code name— then who was Hacker Sunbear?" 

"I don't know. My mother's name was Olga Gurlukovich. I don't know much about her, but she wasn't a hacker. Maybe my biological father was." Sunny sighed on her end, holding her arms around a shrug. Inside, she wondered if Hacker Sunbear had been her father, and passed his name on to her. But there was no use thinking about a man she'd never met. She'd been raised by two wonderful fathers. "Well, we should go to the mess hall. The Boss says we have thirty minutes, and that's that." 

"Everyone's going to see me in this?" 

"I know I like striped shirts, but trust me, these aren't my clothes either." Sunny untied the white jacket that hung around her waist. It had a dark blue sailor suit collar and scarf, but without the wide brim or frills of a school uniform. She slipped it on over her telnyashka shirt, black bell-bottoms, and heavy lace-up boots. "It's a Russian Navy uniform. And the coat's pretty silly." 

"I think you look really good," Jack said while wringing his fingers deep into his suit's gloves until the seams at the end got under his fingernails. 

"I think you look good too. We can like each other. Let's eat breakfast." Sunny gingerly stepped back out to the hallway, and there waited for John to follow her with a playful bend to her body. "Plus, maybe one of the soldiers your age will think you look really handsome." 

John blushed. 

## 

"Shut up and get in the metal gear: we're saving some kids." Monsoon kicked open the cockpit of Desperado's Metal Gear RAY UG. He threw in a big bag of assorted weapons, nanopaste, and food. 

Back down below the scaffolding holding the metal gear to the back of the storage hangar that was otherwise filled with legitimate medical equipment and prosthetics, between two tall crates stamped to identify below the knee legs, Raiden scowled up at the bottoms of Monsoon's feet. Sam stood right by his husband, arms crossed, but armour still on and sword still strapped to his side. Raiden was still wearing sweatpants and a Bat Conservation International t-shirt over his combat body, and he still had Otacon on the phone held to his ear-cover. 

"No, we are not using a metal gear to go to Wyoming," Raiden insisted. "We are not starting up a metal gear. We are not using it as a combat deployment vehicle. Why are we even in the hangar?" 

"Come on, Sam, say it," Monsoon prompted as he leant over the creaking bamboo railing. 

"Say what? We're here because you shoved us in the car and drove us here. We should be at the airport." 

Monsoon bounced off the railing, throwing his arms to the side to indicate the open metal gear while he quoted. "You deny this weapon its purpose!" 

Sam's forehead sank into his palm. 

"Reasmey is faster than any plane, and can follow on foot. It takes four hours to get to the TV set, three if the car speeds. Let's say it's already been one hour. We can catch up to that in a metal gear easily." 

"We'd be running a metal gear, out in the open, along civilian highways. How is that a good idea in any situation?!" Raiden yelled. 

"It's a glorified anti-air turret, not a member of the Wizarding World. We don't have to keep it secret," Monsoon sneered. "Now get in." 

"I thought that it was unmanned..." Sam mumbled. 

"Is that really what's bothering you right now?!" Raiden was baffled by the man he thought he'd known for nine years. "Sam, we _destroy_ those things." 

"It has sat there for a _decade, bonito_." 

"You both said it was dead!" 

"I thought it was..." While Sam tried to explain himself and or calm Raiden just a bit, Monsoon grabbed both of them by the neck from two floors up. The two men shot up to the scaffolding until Monsoon's forearms slammed back in place. Raiden tried punching Monsoon, but as usual, his pieces shifted out of the way. Sam coughed when his throat was free, kneeling on the bamboo slats. 

"Are you okay, Raiden? Sam?" Otacon warbled from the other end of the line. 

"It's just goddamn Monsoon," Raiden growled back. He glared at Monsoon's marble-stiff face. 

Monsoon knew he was right about the decision. It was the fastest way to catch up with the car and deal with any resistance they might find along the way. Ideals about weapon proliferation were secondary to the safety of children. Raiden knew Monsoon was right and secure in his amoral decisions just this once. That's why Raiden really wanted to kill him. 

Monsoon gestured to the metal gear cockpit. "Get in the robot, Shinji." 


End file.
